Saturday, August 25, 2012

Tell Her


This sort of thing just takes care of itself.
Absence always makes the heart grow fond of someone else.
If it doesn't, you have to tell her who I really am.
Tell her my smile, my humor, my persona's a scam
Cov'ring bipolarity, political incorrectness and obsession,
Possible Asperger's or demonic possession.
Say I'm old for my age, that I'm crumbling fast,
A well-practiced sinner with regrettable pasts.
Or if she likes bad boys, you bring up my grades,
The parts of my past fit for my resume.
Tell her whatever you think she'll need to know
So she doesn't miss me when I have to go.

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