According to popular theory,
if misery were something like
a man, I'd throw some chains on it,
give it a good fuck, pretending
to be hard as nails until a thousand
tearful I-love-yous later, when
the facade has worn thin, like
latex after too much friction.
I like my version of the story
better. In it, the girl saves her
smiles for the people who count.

07/01/2004

Author's Note: Somebody told me I enjoy being miserable. I object.

Posted on 07/01/2004
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