One day I will write you a letter,
And tell you everything you want, expect, to hear.
There will be words of sincere apology,
Blooming weakly in preemptive humility.
Humility for subjecting you to me.
I will open telling you how life is terrible,
Great, and sad. How it is paradoxically under control
And careening shamelessly into oblivion;
Mimicking the words of the sad, shameless song
That I sit under your window in the night and listen to,
comforting myself in the endless loop of gin.
Following that shall be sordid details of all the fuckery.
Who fucked up who and who is fucked up now
(As if any of us ever weren't).
Two paragraphs dedicated to a heartless attempt at cheer,
With poetic promises of remorse and redemption,
As if I was some kind of suicidal saviour.
I am, you know, suicidal.
That exact line would be in there, though probably not
With as well-worked of a lead-in as here.
Sketches - scribbles, really -
Will fill up the spiral-punched margins.
Accompanying them would be dashed out lyrics
That may or may not belong to me, or you, or someone we've never met
But both know from lonely nights getting drunk off headphones.
Then I'll sign my name, and add a little personal note.
Love always, mynamehere.
Just like that.