Piano Man

I don't know what it is about you.

Don't know why

I ever even tried.

You play Neil Young-

maybe you also played me.

Your arms are warm BUT our bed smells of something rotten.

We hardly ever speak.

 

 

 

What pains are you numbing as I use you to numb mine?

Could you ever grow to care for a woman who cut off all her hair?

 

Goodbye.

This poem is about: 
Me

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