What does it matter if you have a new life?
Make it alone or with one lover or a hundred more?
What does it matter that your kin is happy?
That you might be a lot less or a lot more kinkier than you were?
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep you?
That you were never true?
They told me living well is the best vengeance.
I have Italian dinners, travel the world, swallow pills.
And I wonder whom I am avenging.
And does it matter that when I listen to a few songs in the middle of the night, I can still cry?
And that I still lament that there was not even grace when we broke me?
What does it matter that I can feel glad it's over.
Or that I still wonder 'what if'?
That I cannot look forward to any new experience?
What does it matter that my birthday no longer makes me happy?
That yours haunts me with hurt and hate in equal measure?
In the distance, they show me a future.
Children with curly hair, naughty eyes, bright smiles - a different life.
Looking into the distance, I stare at the past.
Shed purple tears and smile a violet smile and say -
What does it matter?
I live and so do you.
That is all.
3 comments:
Keeping it out of your mind because that's the only thing that will keep you sane during your angst.
I shudder to think that you've written about things I only would've thought about - a hundred times.
It matters because it makes the good times more worthwhile and because angst always makes you write so well. Nice post, Albert Camus would be proud.
U r a very brave writer. I can write about everything...but never about that that hurts.
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