Hand shaking thinking about touching her breasts.
We were in a hotel, our first time together.
Somehow I persuaded her to remove her tee-shirt.
She taught me how she liked to be touched.
Everything seemed so much simpler then.
I still couldn’t get it through my thick skull I could be in a relationship and be happy.
No, I pulled all the same bullshit, pushed all the same buttons.
Argumentative, abusive, emotionally taxing to the point I ran out of second chances.
Nearly fifty and I’ll probably never learn my lesson.
I see my friends and how their art suffers when they have a significant other.
I’ve always subscribed to the Groucho line "Please accept my resignation. I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member."
It rings true like lemonade on a hot day and never forgiving the Germans no matter how nice they appear today.
We go it alone or we bring along a battalion of Special Forces.
The US found it necessary to burn down villages, poison wells, and wipe out the enemy because war is hell and this proves especially true when we bring it on ourselves.
I cannot seem to make room for anyone else in my life. Is it because I’m too self-obsessed or because I don’t want to bury anyone in my own special brand of isolation?
I was a martyr then I was a lover then I stopped daydreaming and allowed myself to be nailed to the Giving Tree.
He’s the Killer and plays like he is possessed by the devil or some other supernatural supplicant. And I am a parser of words or one of the unwashed or perhaps I’m both or neither of the two. Either way I will burn for my sins once they’re recognized and my name in the Book of Life is erased with the flick of a very nimble and all-knowing wrist.