Ten thousand more times I’ll see you. From now until then. Regret is not a story I tell often. Inward and out I saw something in you like a cat on a fence against the cold moonlight. There in the night, I saw you. One thing I’ll never forget is the way you looked against the shed. Into the dark you lead me. And through the evening, I fell.
Split went my mind. Wrecked to hell. Torn up sweetcandy magazines, ripped into miniature bits. Tossed out my curling rolls. Threw on some old shoes. Tied my hair back in attempts of looking pretty. Looked like shit, left anyways. Met you at the park again.
Frost stuck to the grass like summer’s dew. I dressed in layers to keep warm. I don't know why, because to touch, you're like lava. Oh, our bodies full of thumping hearts and arteries, full of blood and muscles, they didn’t need sweaters, nor mittens and scarves.
We could have loved each other like a sailor to a calm night. A silent, smooth, tidal-type, that only rocks the boat slightly.
Read you some poem I wrote at fifteen. Telling of some boy who crushed me, blah blah, laughed at my pages of tears. It makes my rib ache with hyperhysterical laughs, because I tried so hard to be somebody, yet didn’t have a fucking clue, I still don’t have a fucking clue.
Sitting on the old bench engraved “To a love once lost in ’92”, we shared a short kiss. I left you to lay in that frozen grass, hoping to god something would come running out of the night. A wild and crazy thing.
Instead, not much was said, for you seemed rather drained of thought. Careless could be the better term. Null et dull. So many boys like you came and went. You bored me and ignored me.
Who gives a fuck about you now, hey? Love’s a dirty thing, some wildchild full of twigs and bugs and leaves and moonlight shines on and on. And whatever you called “love” now is floating away into the stars, past all the comets, ready to implode. Our love was up there in the sky once, just fucking once. Now it’s over. It’s gone straight to some sort of celestial hell.