Dancer or Cocktail Waitress

Posted: November 16, 2011 in proselytizaytion

They wanted me to play the guessing game with them all night
but I just don’t care.
It makes no difference to me.

She’s neither of those things now.

I waited three months on an idea that I didn’t come up with
but I guess you changed your mind.
Saight.
It will be a long time before I consider the option again.

Probably for the best.

“Good girl.”
You say it to me like I’m a dog.
Even if you liked dogs
which you don’t…

They wanted me to admit myself to a hospital,
“Just say you’re going to kill yourself.”
How about I just kill myself.

Problem solved.

Sometimes, I still get into this little piteous rut
wherein I’m convinced no one will ever love me.

Good.

Most of the time, it doesn’t hurt.

I wake up repeatedly as someone else.
It’s not my fault.
Something oscillates and shifts.
My whole grasp on the world sways
and completely changes.

You see the same person as you did yesterday
but I see…
through entirely new weights and measures
placed upon the same things.

I know things are the same.
I know.
I know that I am the same.
I know.

But…how I process the information…
resets.

I don’t care if she was a dancer or a waitress
ten days ago or five minutes from now.
She ceases to exist for me outside of the context in which I know her
and goes dormant when we’re not engaged.

Who she is and what she does beyond our contained
interactions
remain irrelevant.

How will I cope when I look up one day and realize that she’s a stranger?

Advertisements

Comments are closed.