blinded.
she looks at him & sighs inwardly,
"you'll be okay."
she says it as if shes making an awaited prophecy
rather than giving him a brush-off
but if only we knew love as something more personal than that thing poets write about
what do you do when love's sole purpose is to teach a lesson or serve as inspiration?
i dont know if i'm entitled to scream, but on behalf of the masses
i think we'd like some answers
everything is fleeting, & your cynical hearts just begging for ever after, or an hour later, or a day proceeding, you know, something impressive & well written
so lets sing a few more songs, & be loud, & leave gaps in our conversations
maybe the words dont all fit together, but i've got too many thoughts in my head to worry about that now
she says to an eager audience,
"well, princess, the key is to break his heart, sell your own, & buy yourself a tiara with the profits."
she turns her back, starts to walk, says over her shoulder, "its nothing personal."
& he's trying to figure out how an angel could be evil, but of course he doesnt know the story about how she fell
oh but she used to be so...well she's not smiling now, shall we move on?
"i'm never sorry. i'm not the type who makes things right with hail marys." is how she starts her weekly confession
"i fell once, accidentally. the second time started the trend, the third created a pattern. i'm practically immortal."
& we're all so proud
she's looking a little doubtful, thoughtful, she bites her lip, "maybe i'm crazy," she says on a laugh, "but i think we'd have better luck with sean's pattern & prophets on the streets of manhattan
than we'd ever have with sanity."