narcissus
it could have been a love song
if i tried hard enough but i didn’t,
of course i didn’t -- i did not love you,
not when i said i did, but wanted you
to love me so i could say,
“no, sorry, it cannot be.”
you liked looking at me, didn’t you?
a mirror and narcissus fall in love --
where is the punchline?
it has been years but i’m still picking you
out from underneath my skin; i don’t know
what hurts more, the impact or the withdrawal?
each time i find a piece of you
i take a peek -- i can’t help it -- and
hear you say “you’re beautiful”.
i wish i could swallow glass, love.
did you wish you were me?
or should i have been a mirror, too? a mirror
it could have been a love song
if i didn’t look too much, but i did,
of course i did -- i did not love you
but i liked the way you looked
(at me, too, i hoped).
how you pirouetted, how you smiled.
you never looked at me, did you?
a mirror and narcissus fall in love -
who cannot see the punchline?
it has been years but i haven’t escaped you;
what hurts more, the explosion or the aftermath?
but each time you find a piece of me i say
“you’re beautiful,” i can’t help it,
even though i wish i had broken more violently
to wound you the deep, unreachable wounds
when you say you wish you could swallow glass
do you want me back, inside,
or do you only want to hear it again?
