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Bored to death.
Woke up on the floor again,
eyes bloodshot, forehead pouring sweat.
And yet, more or less, I have no regrets —
Which reminds me:
you drew the Marianas Trench
on an Etch-a-Sketch
on your waterbed?
I watched your steady hand
and your restless leg —
then I caught myself.
I guess that's best left in the past.
Denial is a wild way to get someone back.
So forget or ignore every gesture and laugh,
every smile, every vile ad hominem attack
with fake facts.
Claps back kept unspoken.
We've come a long way since the days we woke up
with hearts full of hope and a nose for roses,
never presupposing each other's emotions
off tone alone, stone sober and open
to learn as we go. As you said, and I quote, "When
the weight of the world leaves you totally hopeless,
bathe in Burt's Bees and Coco Lopez..."
But now we're middle-aged and still half-assed.
The flags flap flacidly at half mast.
Some tragedies, you have to laugh at,
but you can't, cause you're just a hack who can't act!
You're playing yourself; a role you've chosen
over and over. How's that going?
Keep me posted, just a brief note and
a photo of you sipping Coco Lopez
I know I could never be there with you —
kinda like how I could never be there for you
when you needed me, or needed me to leave, or to move.
I'm just looking for a reason to believe or some proof
that you never wanted me, never wanted what you need,
never got that all the bargaining and pleading only weak-
ens the argument that arguing and bitter disagreement
is better than complacency and human sympathy,
also, listening is stupid.
Honestly, that last bit is where you lose them. Not me!
You got me 'til this is all over,
so if you're looking for a cold shouder or closure,
hope against hope. I must have misspoke,
or maybe it's undiagnosed anosognosia.
So keep going, though don't forget
phone sex jokes and Coco Lopez...