Divorce

There are people in love all around me, the soon to be “we” people, or not, we’ll see. I wish I had a special friend, not a lover, just a listener. Unconditional love, oh, the beauty of a dog, man’s best friend.

I wish time would turn back eighteen years. I wish I had floppy hair, an unblemished face and the boundless enthusiasm of a kid at the chocolate shop for the first time.

I’m toying with the idea of finishing with love right here. It’s crap; it’s a delusional state because I believe in it, believe it will amount to something of significance. I’ve created something like false hope. It’s Stockholm syndrome.

A waste of time.

A delusional state because I believe in it? Just another hack writer penning sonnets, just more schmaltz with which the next generation will be burdened.

It’s too late; it’s just too late.

Time runs on as time runs out.

I’ve had my prince, which somehow turned me into a toad. Hop, hop, hop, go figure.

What is the truth?

The world turns, spins, spins and turns.

And we all head to therapy, the smart ones, anyway. 

“But if you’re so smart why do you need therapy?”

Angst is such a waste of time.

“Brilliant, (I need Bette Davis to say that word for me) and the haves get more and angst gets the rest.

“Er, I’m blocked, I think I lost you…” And you built a wall so fast, and the world…

It’s me against the world, and there is you against the world and forever fell over somewhere in between.

I hate being negative, but the world is a negative place and it eats you up.

Happiness is a fragile condition, don’t go against it in thought, word or deed, but especially deed.

Thoughts are powerful things, so be careful what you wish for; it may just come true.

We lost each other and I never thought it would happen to us.

And friendship goes and the world turns in angst and negativity and we fall and the mud sticks to our skin and I never thought I’d have to do it alone,

being on the outside looking in.

What did happen to those smart young things, so hip, so together, so much fun?

Gone to their graves, everyone. Or, just gone. Done.

So, who shall I sing for and who will be mine? 

A taxi ride home is personal, if you’re alone 

and the bored brain behind the wheel stays tuned out,

by staring ahead into the night.

It’s cold, quiet and dark.

And when the door clicks shut

and you fall to the ground…

nobody is around to laugh at my jokes,

besides you’ve heard them all,

how did I get so out of vogue?

You can’t look me in the eye and sparkle a bit,

just cold disappointment and pointed whit.

Where did you go to my lovely,

didn’t we once used to cuddle, instead

of unknowing, distant, looks.

Wasn’t it you and me and the rest of the world,

wasn’t forever a very long time,

you made me believe in it, where I never did,

the logic doesn’t exist.

And we thought we were so clever in love and free

but it all comes back to you

eventually you see.

And you’d do it for me,

And I…

that’s how it was to be.

And I would…

Yes, I know I said I would,

and we’d both be so safe and together and free…

but I think I missed a step.

I think I’ve always missed that step, that pesky step,

been out of step,

been out,

out.

We went out, who’d have guessed,

who has guessed?

You see,

I don’t have any more stories to tell,

I don’t have any more what ifs on which to dwell,

I don’t have any more excuses to sell.

I have a doctor’s appointment, tomorrow at twelve.