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“All my poems are love songs to you” Tragedy

November 9, 2011

Depressing prose poem is depressing. Sorry guys.

It’s a lot like dying, I imagine

Have you tried not loving her?

Yes and it hurt.

Then again it always hurts

But these hurts are different kinds

[it was an accident]

 

I don’t know, would I be happier?

(unless happiness is still something

that can’t be quantified)

Happier? Sadder? More joyful? More at rest?

[double myself over, let scarf hang past ears, past face, kiss the floor]

 

Would I recognize this person

and he, me

if we saw each other across

the great divide?

[an eye-widening gasp]

 

Or would I be more lost and without

recompense.

[the world spins in moments]

 

Can I give up that future

that I long for

and end that dreaming?

(they have yet to invent the self-perpetuating machine)

let it all die

in my silence

[perpetually dizzy]

 

I care about you, and that is an honest and unshakeable truth.

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From → Poetry

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