my dreams seem like realities
(people will talk, my love, of
everyone we're supposed to be
and who we are) (you
dumped me, remember, darling?)
i dream of impossibilites
that seem so.real. when
theshrill beeping of my
licking-flames-red alarm clock jerks me
back to reality. is it bad
that i prefer dreams to life?
that i go to bed hours
before you do, just so i can finally
escape from life--and you?
no, don't answer that. we
both have a lot of growing
to do; roses and forgotten
carnations twinkle at me
at midnight, when my brain
is trying to scream and shut itself up
at the same time. huneybunch, if you really
love me this much, whyohwhy
did you embarrass me so?
i can't go through that again,
i won't, so you'll just have to
find another girl to "love."
(but, darling, we both know
that there's no one out there like me.)