Erica

It's funny how she looks at me, and you.
She seems to want to know how things
Have settled. She can see I've ceased to
Try to contact you. She sees your over-
Wrought disdain, and understands that
What was once has rotted, and it seems
Almost as if she's thinking she may have
A shot at me. If she should pounce, I'll
Welcome her. She's beautiful, and nice,
As you were once, but aren't. I'll turn
From you, and turn to her, and, who
Knows? Maybe I will find someone
Who's not so immature, someone
Who'll hold, and take good care of,
Me, and let me die, as I am doomed
To do, in loving hands, and you
Can go on as you've gone. You'll
Be unhappy. That's too bad. You
Won't mean anything to me. I'll
Be with her. I'll be so pleased.
You'll be somewhere with someone
Who cannot provide the things you need.
Oh, well; come see me in my grave,
My lovely lover, your replacement,
Standing, weeping over me, and
Understand that, had you kept me,
I'd have saved my love for you,
But you'll be lost, and I'll be dead,
And she, who is most beautiful,
Will be the last thing that I saw.
And, for that reason, I'll be happy.
I don't really care how you will be.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 54 times
Written on 2017-02-08 at 02:05

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