i want more.
than this.
than you're able to give.
there's something pathetic
the way my heart drools in fantasies
and despises real life.

i want more.
the earth is plastic-
this lie that fabricated our meeting-
i demand more of my skin
more than its able-
it hasn't cried out yet
but i don't expect it to.
it was always good at pretending-
at bending and rushing
and forgetting.

i've erased you
like a bad dream
and the sad river of my mind
doesn't mourn you
like it's supposed to.

i've given up
bargaining with cruel ironies-
they always pull the rug
and leave you wondering
when the maid last arrived to clean.

-a.