Tuesday 3/09/2010 02:08:00 AM

Choice comes in many facets. Choosing. As it were. To be alone. To be touched. By anything you had hoped might remember. Solving the puzzles as the logic comes. In hysterical outbursts. Of empty apartments. And leaky roofs.

Lazy friends. And entitled men. Bored with the cycles of menstruation.

Choices she says are only an illusion. We've already decided. To be loved. Or to wish that we had been. To be poets or mothers. Or lesbians.

A broken world. Full of broken people. This hope that remains. Is my only weakness.

I wake up in the dark and she wants to turn on the light. I wake up in the dark and wonder how she she knows the difference.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.