My black coffee is warm, the sun is peeking.
It said 7:02. I don’t understand
how phones can answer most of my questions
except the philosophical ones of how you can
be one person with two eyes
and another with an eye in the middle. It seems
most men are like this, it’s not a surprise.
I learned it from young, but the hope keeps
rising like your hardness. I wished I never
saw you now. I wished I never knew you now.
I thought you were someone else, excuse me.
I thought you spoke my language, you never
did. You researched me, googled me, and
made my name too large in print. It’s just a
name. I’m no one special. You’re the radiohead
I think I see you everywhere, but
the truth is, all these thoughts are pointless.
My coffee is still warm and my libido
is still alive. I’m baking lemon cakes
now, I’m wearing no underwear.
I’m mentally ill now, I’m going crazy.
Aren’t you happy for me? I may even
try to kill myself for you. Wouldn’t
you love to have a trophy of all
of us? Lined up and direct
telling you how we are all so crazy,
to for have fallen for you.