this is why i don’t let myself feel things you know
you can’t get stabbed in the heart if you don’t have one.
i wish you inspired me to write more
when we were at peace
but as warring nations the tale is so much juicier;
this is a waste of time, perhaps
have i learned anything, but coping methods?
no ability to stop the knife from entering my rib cage,
just a keener ability to slow the bleeding.
better than nothing.
i want to be above this,
to be singularly devoted
to a thing i know won’t hurt me
to a thing i know i can’t hurt,
i want to marry my work;
i don’t think it could hurt me,
i don’t think i would hurt it.
i wouldn’t have to read its mind
or guess what it was thinking
i wouldn’t want to dance the dance it wanted me to dance
or bend me knee to its wishes,
i wouldn’t have to,
this is all a waste of time
i need to eat some, some motherfucking asparagus,
go for a run,
finish a book,
no more emo poetry for me,
leave that shit to tumblr