Many times she said to me that love and life are tender,
But why should I concede this point or otherwise surrender?
Nor will I assail her more while curs and boors defend her --
The effort, vain, the purpose, lost; I cannot comprehend her.

Many times she made it known that I could never save her,
That petulance and headaches were the sum of what I gave her.
And loathing in this style, sure as steel she would not waver,
Her disposition calloused toward those fallen from her favor.

She slanders goddess Luna when she writes as though she needs him;
Hangs herlself, a garish opal, glows until she bleeds dim;
Gives herself in body to a boy as she misleads him,
Her heart betrothed to someone else whose decadence precedes him

And here I leave those better days in songs and photographs,
As she carves my trifling name into her girlhood epitaphs.
To reduce impassioned trysts to ungainly teenaged gaffes --
A sentiment which one reflects upon, pauses, and then laughs.


*i do not think this piece is finished yet *
*in fact, this is really just a rough draft*