i know a night will come
on which you stare up to the sky
more whisky wasted than our stillborn potential,
having lost the race once again
chasing sleep as I once did you,
wishing only to regale stories of your haunted house.
no longer will i bequeath an ear,
smooth over your needless unease.
you are less than daydreams
i so beautifully concocted
while waiting by the phone.
a million and one is two too many.
and when you look into my pretty green eyes,
the only wet reflection you’ll see
is that of a man who’s best trait
is that i once loved him.
you’ll wail to the moon
while i am the sun.
going, going, gone.
in your own eloquent words of goodbye,
so be it.
so good!