chris (drtynumbanglboy) wrote,

hey vagina, don't play that song

i've no idea what i'm doing.

desperate that no one find out, i run from one of you to the next, a bouquet and my better judgment held before me as dowry. and it's as if every one of you can see my dry eyes and even stare when it's made clear i can't make you love me.

i'll just straighten my tie and leave then

theres a bit of lint on it from some that jumped up off your sweater when i sat down, spinning and pirouetting with a deadly accurate aim. because i wanted something or nothing, or too much or too little, there was no choice on your part, i know, simply put the end on softly, press slowly harder when placing the period, avoid the overused ellipsis. i've come to postulate that it's time to remove chance from our love life. reinstitute the arranged marriage, remind us what it is to come to love someone, to bear a circumstance for no reason at all. why? because it sounds so crazy to say, but fuck if i could bear with patience a life of pointless searching amongst the detritus of these stilted cities to settle, short of where i was 8 or 6 or 4 or 2 years ago with you.

for the longest time i thought it was a good idea to be honest with you all

everyone has an opinion on where i found you, how bad an idea it seems, why it won't work, reprimands for my lack of endeavour, replaying old songs and habits that've always gone along. yet none with an idea of where to go from here. none outside of a decade long relationship, locked in to the fixed rate, kids and high blood pressure, forgetting rimbaud and neutral milk hotel, pity on me.

you and your thighs have got a communication problem

because you look at me that way, and the bruises your thighs carry have trouble making themselves heard over the sound of your itch. believe me, diving in will let you forget for a while, back arched with a 4th scream of the day. twenty years from now that moment will birth an inconsolable fit i'm honor bound to throw.

all the things you've now learned will be used against me

on that day twenty years hence, the long lost letter arrives, a polaroid inside, only my eyes and lips can be seen, you sit on the chair in the dining room of your tudor style 4 bedroom, fingering your wedding ring as you listen to the last thing i'll ever say to you.

"look me in the eyes and tell me, that i'm satisfied."

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