poetry

Punk Rock Lover

Your shirt feels cheap

Against my skin,

But you always say

‘Suits you, babe,’

 

Our best nights are the

Ones where we don’t talk.

Although I sometimes enjoy

Those guilty nights

When you sing to me

About the pretty girl

With flowers in her hair.

I ask you who she is.

You say ‘It’s you, babe,

Touching me in the way that

Makes me think you might love me

While we both pretend I’m her.

I’m sure she’s as pretty as you say

And she fills your dreams right now

With her acoustic love.

 

Our song just sounds like static;

Repeated over and over.

I ask you if you’re bored yet.

You say ‘Of course not, babe,’

And touch me in a way

That makes me think

You almost love me…

 

I’m sure you do, babe,

But only when you’re drunk.

And in the sober morning

I’ll leave my goodbye

In lipstick on your stubble.

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