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Array
(
[sid] => 5203
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Bittersweet
[time] => 2002-10-17 08:30:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The problem with you
is you can’t take life, make life, so you fake life. Turn everything around you into an illusion of what’s real. But it’s not real. Can’t you feel? You don’t like truth cos it hurts, and when you’re told, you look at me like dirt, try to escape or ignore it, implore it to go away. But beneath, underneath your large impossible mirage, it lingers. Look at your fingers. They shake when you hear. A sheer kind of fear envelopes you when I’m near. In case I remind you, you think if I find you you’ll remember you’re really here. You pretend you’re made of granite or on another planet Can’t be true can it? Or aren’t you like the rest of us? Different somehow like an endangered species preserving yourself even now, For what? I’ll tell you what. You’re a silly cow. You had everything with me and you didn’t know it, when I tried to show it you recoiled from my touch. Is it too much? Or is it such a hard thing for you to do? to give an explanation, or more information about why there was no indication to me of what you wanted. You kept quiet at night in the hope that I might just disappear, just go away and you’d never have to say what you’re feeling. I’m still reeling. Just don’t tell me you don’t need anyone. When you’re cut ,don’t you bleed? I have a yearning, a lust for learning about you. I have to confess, it was hard to second-guess you all the time, and I’ve disdain for the pain I felt when you wouldn’t confide in me, so I went along for the ride, but never lied to you about what I thought. Went to a great length even when you told me you thought you were caught, trapped, sapped of your strength. I’ve come to realise it’d be no surprise if you blamed me for your dad. But I had nothing to do with his death, didn’t engineer his terminal breath, Did I? Did I give the prognosis of deep-veined thrombosis?, or the diagnosis of scirosis of the liver? Or murder him in cold blood? do you think I would? or even if I could? Tell me please If I injected him with some terrible disease, like legionnaires, AIDS, HIV. Could that have been me? Under oath I’d swear no Trust me, I’m not a doctor But you’ve no belief. I’m too much of a bastard to feel grief. But I felt it too. Felt I should hide it from you, to give you some relief from the pain you were going through. You’ve no idea. You weren’t here when your dad died and I cried myself to sleep, because I felt I knew him through you. Hardly any of your family knew me. that’s how you wanted it to be. Had no interaction ‘cos I was just a ‘great distraction’ from the real world woven perfectly into your figment of the truth, you little girl. What makes you think you could play with this twit and get away with it? Eh? Do you think I’m thick? Can’t I see you in your little clique? Pulling the strings to make things difficult for me? You make me sick, and leave me to regret the day we met, and yet, I love you. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 161 [topic] => 22 [informant] => ben [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove )
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