Mister, Mister

The pull of gravity is greater on my bed
Unlike any other places
And here
The pull of the memory of you
Is dwindling down
To nothing

Three words
Mean different to me and you
You’re a voice of a strange love and reason and faith
And dreams of islands, sunsets, and waterfalls, fall
Falling into illusions of great mistakes

I wish I wanted to say yes
I wish I could say that I wasn’t so pure
I wish I could say there’s nothing to taint
So the colors you painted
Won’t fade like this
A painless, teary mess
Dripping your dark and light shades
Of saying goodbye not to you
But to memories of you

A year
And I rarely remember you
But when I do
Under the stars that we talked about
And with untouched skin you dreamed about
I sometimes wish you were true

But I am me and you are you
So
Like I always do
I take what I can get
This illusion of a love
Offered by men like you
Until once more
We have to let go
And I have to stand alone
A lamplight forcing me to let out
The stories of me and you, me and him
That I shall never tell
Who says a girl’s too young to go to hell?

So, mister,
Mister,
This may be the last poem
I write about you
The last poem
I write for you.
The last time
I cry for you.