HEARTSINK

I'm sorry

that you hate this place and the slow pace of life that you and I got used to

I'm sorry

that I'm useless at the things that bring you the rolling stone satisfaction you call happiness

and as much as a rebranded man I am now,

this is what it always comes down to:

a hundred apologies and boring monologues from me

not seeing red but red-faced from the effort of chasing up the loose ends I left you with

and the aforementioned tendency to be a dick head/

accidentally like I said

but that makes no difference, does it?

indifferent to the differences between us

you want to trust a man who can barely put his trousers on without falling over/

lowering the bar,

setting it so low

that doing the limbo with me would break your back/

back to where we started

square 1,

2,

3,

4,

5 months

of velvet underground moments

until I learnt that looking back is a futile action/

a new romantic reaction to the metaphorical slap to the face you gave me

(even though you didn't mean to)

I know that, but knowledge is not what we need

needlessly stating the facts

when the fact is:
we fucked up

up the bracket and down the stairs to the

"SHUT THE FRONT DOOR"

you were so sure of saying

the thing is

my apologies can only do so much
with the biology between us/
waiting at bus stops
stopping to think how i'm wasting your time

like the white wine I drunk when you left

and the expectation on your face/

exhausted from expecting more

more or less letting love tear us apart

look what I've started:

blue screens of death and

another endless summer of

"we can still be friends"

when the thing is

I MISS YOU

not the toothpaste kisses

or pissing with the door open

but just knowing you,

showing you that age is just a number,

a number that numbs us
with every year that passes/

as the heartsink

and pink squares
fade away