The spirits say it
has come time to give you up
you don’t like me much,
At this point, I am
more confused than anything
about my small role,
If not as a lover,
I can only guess that I’m
just a tenured fan,
A willing font of
attention and worship
at your cruel altar,
You seem to look down
on me as a loyal dork,
I guess you’re not wrong
I’ve long adored you
instead of getting mad
I’ll distance again
Be your nice textpal
and accept that you’re just not that
into me for me
I need to ponder
less on your motivations
they’re hidden answers
Take pride in the fact
that I at least got to fuck
a fickle beauty,
You are an old knife
one I keep in the holster
of my yearning heart,
But I can’t transform
if I keep crafting new ways
to open old wounds,
You are a lead weight
a storm I have to dance in
a magic woman,
But she’ll never show
her true hidden self to me,
I’m not cool enough.