dear you,
its me
once your future. now your history.
i wish i had your ability
to keep busy
makes it easy for you to forget me
ironic
the dead horse is twitching and i'm holding a stick
standing here
still taking swings
for you, dear
deluded in familarity
familar with its disparity
the elephant in the room is waving its trunk
if you ignore it
all thats left is clarity
albeit, empty
but dear you,
deserve much more
than my hyperbole
in case you wonder
how i am
irony comes around again
sleepless not dreamless
this transition; not seamless
the juxtaposition
is what i want doesn't want me
never did; wholeheartedly
ironic
the dead horse is twiching. i'm holding a stick
standing here
taking swings
for you, dear
dear you
its me
my misery
misses your company
and the dead horse is twitching. i'm walking away
from the irony
but i'll be right here
quietly,
for you, dear.
