his name is the same as mine and he's
falling himself into your bed.
Right now you are wrapping your legs around him,
and he's penetrating you, and you are
making love or like or
whatever the fuck it is you are calling it these days.
And I -- I am sitting here at
some nameless bar,
some Mulligan's, some Billy's,
someplace where I can drown myself in alcohol
Old Style -- a bitter beer for a bitter memory
A myriad of questions burn through my brain
it's "how could you?"
it's "why him?"
it's "why me?"
it's "why not me?"
But the questions are moot.
They won't bring you back, and I don't want you back.
All that's left is to congratulate you.
Well played. . . well played
you played me well; I never suspected a thing.
Congratulations, and may God have mercy on your soul,
you free loving hippie piece of shit!
On second thought, fuck that;
I hope he doesn't.