by Harold Millican

It's 3am
And here I sat embarrassed that I fail
to show him up
To rid him of
His own self-righteous hell
I cleaned up and the drier is a runnin'
The children have gone to bed
And I'm still up, pondering, considering
What the hell was going through his head
I suspect it was the alcohol, the folly of the day
Faster I'm still searching...
Searching for yesterday
Yesterday when I was telling him
Oh yes I love you so
I'm constantly proving I'm gonna stay
How bout' I beg you not to go.

My brain is really processing too much at one time
I'm pissed, I'm hurt and I'm silent
So as a way to sweat it out
I type away at this page
I just really isolate my rage
And faster as I key
I think
Should I bolt for the door
Faster faster faster
Just so I don't hurt anymore
I'm here I'm glad we lasted
but my cells are fried
I'm like a warning light
Maybe my love is just too big
Maybe you need more time
Faster faster faster
Out of all control
No fire light burning
No say that you'll go
It's a bit funny now
My love is the color beige
Faster faster faster
I took me away
dot dot dot
mark mark mark
I slammed the door shut
I scared and I'm burning myself
thinking I'd have beginner's luck


Author's Note: A therapeutic argument involved a patient lover and the actions of his hapless companion

Posted on 09/04/2010
Copyright © 2020 Harold Millican

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