she was on stage,
wearing a Gogol Bordello shirt,
reading gangster poetry,
and I wanted to kill myself.
got to pack my things
and I go,
this dog night is mine,
love is like a spine fight.
the sun is setting well,
but you have to let it go,
until you see a new somewhere
on stage referring to Breece Pancake.
sometimes you get kicked in the heart
on blue Monday when you thought easy
that Tuesday would be breezy
and uninspired.
I exit and she follows,
I trip up the stairs and she is there,
the vibe uncanny,
but we didn't know how to handle it.
we danced and when she went to get us drinks,
I left and ghosted, because I would rather
love her like this than date her and let her down
or, like Camus said, let her down by not taking out the fucking garbage.