(i know it's less than eloquent
but it's the only thing i can
think of, that does not require
pages of exposition)
i wish i could say to your face
what i write to your back.
i am tugging with fortune
and nearing dangerously close
to the mud puddle in the middle.
the life i live in my words
is the one i wish the world could see.
where you actually give a shit.
and aren't involved with
whatsherface, or whatever
flavour of the week it is right now.
i was pistachio.
strange, but charming and
entirely too whimsical to not
fall in love with the archetypal villain.
my fervent wish,
is that i'll show up at your wedding
to the girl you think is right,
with a red dress
(red's really the only appropriate colour,
i'll never be dull enough for white)
and you'll realize
that if you don't leave with me now,
forever will be a few short
and long years of alimony checks
if not that,
that you'll show up at mine,
a commitment ceremony on some
godforsaken island somewhere
with monkeys flinging poo
and you'll drag me back
and make love to me
in your expensively appointed
and we'll stain your hardwood floors.
what i'm most afraid of
is that neither will take place,
and i'll be lulled in complacency
and it will remain,
as it is now,
that the only time i feel any ounce
of passion or life within my prison
of a body
is when i think of you.
passionless is a horrible way to be.
lie to me.
an imaginary world where
you love me,
over this cold and lonely night.
even in the poems,
you never love me back.