Prone to bouts of ennui that cover hours at a time, if I’m lucky.
I know what I’m grieving but I won’t make a scene about it
but I will get myself into a caper because every grown man will at some point in his stupid
little life. A boy’s game that never changes
in the pursuance of remaining young at heart
in the name of hanging on to what was once had.
The steady, symmetrical shows only allow what I want you to see.
The humour is meant to keep you out of the loop.
The beauty of it all, intentional too. It’s all I’ve been able to build to ensure you don’t take
your eyes off me
while I sit in the quiet dignity
of my own melancholy.
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