Wednesday, October 23, 2019

An Old Poem to Fill the Time

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Util

I built you back from the pieces of the boys who were your friends --
Like every seaside story, at my feet is where this ends.
Put a gaping hole where our own world used to be,
Fill it up with rum and coke and call it fantasy.

It used to be, it used to be :
I was used to you, you were used to me.
Everyone's got their own world where they could use a friend.
It used to hurt and crash and burn and beat down and offend.

I broke you down and deconstructed girls who loved you more;
I cracked your shell, and here you fell, upon my rocky shore.
Brew your bubbling, caffeinated, dated heresy;
Fake your fiction, contradiction, trills of melody.

It used to be, it used to be!
I had use of you, you had use of me.
Trodden twigs and wizened wigs don't feel quite all the same.
I hope your breath falls easy, love -- it used to be my name.
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