Sunday, 8 May 2011

lover's lament

I am singing love songs
from the 60's
and 70s.
the ones that people forget exist because they are laden with
I hate you, for this.

Al wants me to think of good times,
Erma's giving little pieces of my heart away.
You know, it used to make me feel good.

But now, I wake,
tangled in sheets and rage,
and memory that makes me wish
that I could erase
your face.

Scrub it out with rubber slabs till my hands,
were red, and pulsing with
and then you'd feel the sting of my rage,
which I have been told,
is just as sweet as it is to be loved
by me.

Instead, I wake,
to the tune of Jimmy Ruffin,
for this is what becomes of the broken hearted:

This is my prison of contradictions
where I'm still loving
that you loved me,
hating me, for such crimes,
and wishing someone would pass me
an eraser.

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