it’s somehow the end of the beginning,
where the dancing becomes awkward
and the drinks really flow –
(i’ll have one right now)
god damned clean white page!
there you go,
100 lines just for you,
“Prostituted child touching an old man”
and then I jumped
I found it out the hard way
I flirt with dirt and you, in the clouds;
what reign will we endure:
and i, hunched over punctuation, deem dreadful
the day you walk out;
will I shout, the joys you gave me,
the sadness I endured
just to see you happy?
oh how she is… k.
i dream of words never said,
never dreamt by anyone but me.
I concoct excuses for jacking off,
imagining the fantasy that could have been.
Fuck you.
fuck you for my dreams,
my lost and broken hopes,
my simpleton’s soul.