Every poem I write is an ode to you
I know I grew and yet you're still stronger
You seem to last longer like the next version of Duracell
I'm not doing well, my perversion is incurable
All while the definition of love spoils and rots
And hardens and clots with no pardon on your part
It was like when your iris that was once a heart-shape
Breaks and turns old, burns cold and starts to ache
I made the mistake of casting spells
I'm afraid to tell anyone in case they don't work well
I race to say what a jerk I've been
Your reply always guides me to heroin
To satanism and all the promises it entails
And I hope to tell tales of our unity that failed
But resurfaced and flourished until we grow up together
Until we show up at award shows, forever
highlighting my success as an artist
I start this as a fantasy, you and me in my mind
For an hour everyday it's the same kind of crazy
That keeps me thinking of you every time I sing
Everything and everyone reminding me of the worst I've done
I'd curse the sun and beg the moon to complete it's cycle
And bring you to my feet, defeated and humiliated
Desperate and pathetic and infatuated, once again
With the life we had and the life we could still have
All the laughs we could still laugh
And our hands that could still hold on to each other
It used to bother me when you didn't want to sleep together
But now the pleasure of you would be so much deeper
Because here I sleep alone, and even the arms of friends
End too soon, are scarred and charred and try pretend
to make things better, although they are just another aggravation
Just another confrontation on "what the fuck is my problem?"
And "what am I on?" And how could helping me benefit them?
Life's better without that, I'll accept your friends
We can go to the movies or the ice-rink and reflect on things
And reject all substances except the ones the doctors approve
But we'll still drink booze just to improve the sex life
And make all the complex issues easy to discuss
Without the disgusting tissues and swear words and fussing
Over the small things which only come second to what really matters
Which is the patterns in the stars when they think of us
I love you