Something old I found lying around

That sounds so good today.

Minutes don’t matter here…
Nor do hours or days…
Or the things we call ours…
in so many ways…
it all leads to irrelevance

My need for the eloquence of poetic bullshit and beautiful words
Where is the beauty in verbs?
like… to go, to leave, to be alone, to cry, to miss, to want you home

you…. me… us… what was? what is was?
the verb of past that means nothing
because you smile, i frown, its done, you cry,
i died that night.

the lack of self loathing that flows in our words
seems to only be found in our verbs
I blah blah blah blah to me when I blah blah blah
drives me crazy… like you did that day.

People, places, things drive me crazy
Aren’t worth living for, bending over backwards just to be
scarred for life from a back injury
you would’ve been better off without

our history our present depends on the verb
we use to describe our presence in the
unforseen future that may not exist most days.

do i make any sense or am i just words
on a page filled with lack of beauty and
verbs regurgitated onto a page saying
to go, to leave, to be alone, to cry, to miss, to want you home

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