Half-listening to the voice on the phone.
She complains about love.
All the time.
And how unjust,
And so uptight.
Her words don't phase me,
they don't even intrigue me.
[And I'm a very curious person.]
I don't care what she has to say.
I hear the same things.
Over and Over again.
Frusterating isn't it?
How does she entrance so many?
So shallow. So vain.
And they say I'm arrogant!?
I face up to my past.
But, leave it where it belongs,
She admires hers,
Making it her present.
Always, Always, Always.
So ever present.
But, I supose I'm just jealous.
Or so I've been told.
Is it possible to be nothing,
yet to have it all?
Or is All really nothing,
and Things all for naught,
And We can go to our graves,
in [figurative] emotional gold?!?!
|
Submission Name: Golden Girl
