Mean You; Stupid me

It is just me and you,

In this mini colloseum,

Watching these amateur singers perform

Crowded though it is,

Smokers though we all are,

In the fading light of a day gone by,

Both our cigarrettes glow brighter than everyone else's.

 

Is it not quite the enigma,

The fact that the more you pull your hand away when i reach for it,

The more I reach out?

The meaner you get,

The more I like you?

 

In the mini colloseum where the amarteurs perform,

That evening when our cigarrettes glow as brightly as my heart,

Why do you keep looking at me?

Smiling as you drill holes in my body with those eyes?

Oh God, those eyes!

 

Yet when i call,

You say that you'll call back in five,

Five that hits fifty,

Five that just never materializes.

 

Yet the more you keep me waiting,

Hoping,

The more my hunger grows.

And while I should grow impatient,

Throw in the towel and move on to less stubborn grounds,

I wait, in the hope that you'll throw a side glance my way.

 

Mean you,

Stupid me.

What a catastrophe this would be.

Yet here I am,

Throwing myself in the ring against the monster that is your games,

Not thinking that i could loose,

For I am David,

And there is simply no leaving the ring without you.

 

Mean you,

I have nothing to lose.

Just you by walking away.

But last time i tried that,

Goddamnit you wouldn't calling!

 

So here i am,

Back for you.

And this time,

I am meaner than you.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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