(Remind me why I still try) and it's
a horribly bleak outlook for this storybook
portrait set in stone, but it's the only thing
we have let to cling to on this fucked up
carousel ride we call love.
(I honestly don't know.) and your words
offer no support to the arising
complication, but I don't move, I just
sit with both hands in my pockets and
wait for the final blow to obliterate this
fairy tale castle of cards.
(God, you're so useless.) and you just
nod, shooting venom dipped daggers in
my general direction while I'm tracing
designs on the cracked concrete below
my feet, wishing it would open up and
swallow us whole before we can destroy
any other piece of this.
(I guess you're right.)

and it does.