flirtingwithtragedy: a monologue.
02.12
And just when I think I’m making progress,
She slowly digresses back into her head.
She’s made me infatuated with the unknown;
I compare her in conversation,
To store front reflections;
I’m constantly fogging up,
Slobbering on:
Trying to peer closer inside,
Like an eager child.
Fucked:
As I stand out like a sore thumb,
Erratically standing there —wide eyed,
In calm of the night;
Wading in social scenes for her,
Foaming at the mouth with all of the things
— left unsaid.
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