It’s no use pretending that it didn’t happen.
And it will keep on happening.
Scotch crazy and martini wild
days of secret tears and bad imagination.
Acid-washed nights in torn memories–faded
blue jeans frayed and dragging the street like the
Fear and hopeless
pain in my soul’s heart.
I want you back. Please try. C’mon.
The gray marble slab tells the world
that it’s over―and been over for two full
moons. You’re gone, it says.
I say no.
Not just no, but Hell no.
I want us
To happen again.