we all die, even if we aren’t the deceased.
a piece of us has been torn away,
never to be returned.
i’m stuck, unable to move,
even as the rain pours down upon my head,
beading up like i shampooed with rain-x.
an elderly gentleman approaches me with an umbrella
offering assistance, but i shoo this fellow away
as my tears are now blending in with the rain.
(nice enough citizen i suppose, but he was in way over his head.)
i tell myself that time will heal this deathly wound,
but i’m not convinced that i can ever move beyond
the love and the connection that i only had for her,
so like any true romantic writer would do…
i went out and fucked a prostitute;
yup, that seemed to do the trick.