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If I had the balls, could I really end it all? If so, this would be the last note.

(Oh don’t worry. I’m too chicken, and it’s not time yet.
Besides, sez he, I love you too much.)


Bumble and stumble from passion to passion–
This is the wend of your life, you’d see–
if you had the guts to turn around
and look at what you wrought.

Aimless quest to get through the day–
Inchoate pleasure to cool disdain–
Whatever kept you whole
and got you yours, whatever you wanted.

Love’s lamented refrain
Another thinly veiled stab
At self-satisfaction,
No matter what you said or say.
Her eyes once alight with you
Now just more broken bottles
In a foreclosed room.

You dragged her down with crocodile tears,
Held yourself back with artificial fears.

What does it matter?
You knew it would come
To this room,
To this wall,
To your hunkered shadow
Swimming in self pity.

This is where it will end.
You will be old and alone
And unregarded.
Mother’s desperate wishes,
Father’s Family yearnings,
Naught and naught, naughty one.

Your blind and mute improvised solo
Flat and minor and over not soon enough.

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