Fireplace with Tourette’s, pops and crackles in depth,
Drunkenly asking questions I wouldn’t dare, I was shy,
Recherché brunette, with curlicue braids on her head,
There’s a reason wine glasses are in the shape of a Y.
Fork in the road, left or go right, slicing tension with knives,
I went left, it felt right, spooning you ’cause the etiquette’s nice,
Drinking the truths I fed you, intoxicated with lies,
Sedated and high, I’ve contemplated for help.
What kills you isn’t the virus, it’s the inoculation itself,
It’s what helps you and what hurts you, it’s complicated as hell,
Whatever, that isn’t what I wanted to say,
I wanted to go, but in jest, I wanted to stay.
It’s getting awfully late, capturing arguments offside,
Cured by clever wording, Cambridge-Oxford alumni,
Defunct and debased, aim the hair and the trigger,
Selfishly enamored with death, a date at 8, before dinner.
Ignoring the nosebleed as I stare in the mirror,
Tighten my necktie, debonair of elixir,
Ignored the pain, hailed a taxi to a chain up in Gloucester,
Took off her pea coat, pulled up her chair, and with posture,
Stayed after pay, after lobster, chatting crucially after,
Doodled on napkins, flirty exchanges on contours,
“Draw a monster for me. Now, what makes it a monster?”
Voodoo and magic, pin the needle on the doll,
Incognito, high libido in the stalls,
Torpedoed, and we fall, mistaking distress ’cause I’m loyal,
Disrobing attempts at joy, sex as a crutch to enjoy you,
Aware, but yet not so, picked up on the influenced behavior,
Clues like, you were nice to me, but were rude to the waiter,
Apprehensive as creatures, egotistical shroud we bestowed,
Jealous of the fires made when I was set out in the cold,
Mistakes are subjective, practicing repetition till death,
Like a photo out of focus is a blunder, but ten are a trend,
Ambien, ambiance, ambulance, a picture of you in a locket near my heart’s strings,
Open it up, learning to stop looking for happiness where I lost it.