I Don't Even Know
I have put you out of my dumb mind. That’s not true. I have tried to put you out of my dumb mind, but you come creeping back like what I bet follows you. Sometimes it will be a message, or a memory, or a thought and I’ll be off in dumb tears that choke my dumb throat and hurt my dumb chest and I will end up crying my dumb self to sleep.
What I try to make you is ink on paper. Logic and sense enter into it and that is all, but when I see your face you are flesh that everyone except me has touched. I cannot make you ink on paper if all you do is keep coming back to me. There have been times when you have ghosted in on the outskirts of my dumb brain and I have banished you with strength and no emotion. But then there are times like now, when you have not said two words to me, that I let you in again and you nestle yourself nicely in my dumb head, there to stay for a lengthy visit. Well, you have overstayed. I would ask you kindly to leave, but I am afraid that, though it hurts me more than I can say, in my dumb chest and in my dumb tummy, having you at my fingertips is better than having you gone.
So you do the things you do, and you let other people do the things you want them to do to you, and I will sit back and pretend like every dumb word is not a dumb knife inside my dumb body, cutting out my dumb heart and throwing it onto the dumb ground for every dumb son of a bitch to see.
Very.
What I try to make you is ink on paper. Logic and sense enter into it and that is all, but when I see your face you are flesh that everyone except me has touched. I cannot make you ink on paper if all you do is keep coming back to me. There have been times when you have ghosted in on the outskirts of my dumb brain and I have banished you with strength and no emotion. But then there are times like now, when you have not said two words to me, that I let you in again and you nestle yourself nicely in my dumb head, there to stay for a lengthy visit. Well, you have overstayed. I would ask you kindly to leave, but I am afraid that, though it hurts me more than I can say, in my dumb chest and in my dumb tummy, having you at my fingertips is better than having you gone.
So you do the things you do, and you let other people do the things you want them to do to you, and I will sit back and pretend like every dumb word is not a dumb knife inside my dumb body, cutting out my dumb heart and throwing it onto the dumb ground for every dumb son of a bitch to see.
Very.