Eventually
it dusked on me
that in the flatness of time
you would outlive your uselessness;
For your sins, I confess
it was merely a foregone confusion.

With a genuine show of affliction
you fled my addiction
on the eve of distraction
as freedom prescribed
methadone in your madness.

My glimmer of hope for some sanity
disappeared into reality.
Under stress, I regress
to a playground mentality, hiding
and seeking safety in numbness,
a game that I play with myself.

You think I'm dumb
[well, that goes without saying]
there's an ailment of truth
in those clinical words
from a doctor of sophistry,
call me absurd
but you're one of those things
I dislike
more than anything else.

Like a view without room
for a novel idea
you keep fawning behind
when you could have been here
occupying my mind.
And how selfish of me
to be thinking of others,
or is that human nature ignoring a vacuum?

Whilst I am still dressing in heroin chic
you are one of a clique,
phenotypically unique
fully cloned, dressed to cull
claiming autistic licence
for being a regular freak.

The gods' gift to pandora, or merely lost progeny?
You're a cameo classic from pure Greek misogyny
armed with a nice turn-off phrase
and a smile
like a slur
on my caricature.

Now I laugh in the farce of adversity
and celibate, celebrate
single life reincarnate, yet
I remain your devoted adversary
and swear I will be
the soul of discrepancy
[paid with the wages of cynicism].

And though you wished a porno star,
mindless to say
I have gone...a cliché too far.


[the more I edit, the less it changes]

10/11/2003

Posted on 10/11/2003
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