Rains. Do you know realize how
this perpetual wetness irritates me, takes so
much out of me? No more drizzles for me, or those
flashing lightening with huge sound affects affairs,
I have had enough, really.
What would it take for us to kill
the drama between you and me? This professing of
love; night after night; and letting it go. Every
morning? Would people buy tickets to see our hearts
break? Wait in lines for lines, where I
tell you, ‘this is the end of the road.’ And, you
tell me that I was always on the wrong road, that
it was not the safe road that led to you. And then I say
(They
cut what I say actually, and go for an advert-man’s gotta
make money). And then
I do not say…
Silence. Yours’, and mine. And one day, this story will
be told.
To different people.
You're one of very few people whose poems I (occasionally, not always) attempt to read.
ReplyDeleteBut... but... don't be mean to rains. I miss them so!