Tuesday, November 10, 2009

"Act in such a way that you treat humanity... always at the same time as an end and never merely as a means to an end."

You were reading Atlas Shrugged: I must admit, I was impressed,
(But how would I explore your mind while staring at your breasts?)
You were spinning candy dramas woven into cotton dreams,
Sharp as a bloody nail file, and as sweet as beaten cream,
Still, I felt angelic assets hidden there beneath your seems.

We drank a box of Peter Vella, fell into the night.
The others drifted off to bed. You whispered “I don’t bite.”
I covered you with kisses and you covered up my eyes,
So I wouldn’t see the pit you hid so snug between your sighs,
You let me lick your lilies while you spread your pretty lies.

I wound myself in your embrace—you fit me to a T.
Only it was lowercase, a shadeless, barren tree.
Your halo was a noose that you would hang from every day,
Your wings were lined with razor blades to slice my soul away.
You shed your robes and wore a thong to put it on display.

You prodded me for fantasies, I whispered in your ear
That I would be your Arthur and you’d be my Guenevere.
I lifted up the lid of your forgotten wishing well,
And felt a flame that made no light, but burned as hot as hell.
I tried to see the bottom but I leaned too far and fell.

For fifty months I tumbled, after forty I was numb.
My Guenevere had shark’s teeth, and I had turned to chum.
While you were getting furniture, I was getting bills.
While you were racked with laughter, I was getting chills.
While I was bursting blood vessels, you were popping pills.

Something stank in Denmark but it all remained a riddle,
Till you rode off with Lancelot and left me Lance-a-little.
So I’ll sit here in my tower and I’ll cry myself to sleep,
I tried to buy you heaven but the price was just too steep.
You left me here with nothing and it’s nothing that I’ll keep.

An angel made a monster out of loneliness and lust,
I knew that you had issues—it’s yourself that you don’t trust.
There is one final lesson here on which I can depend:
Not just alphabetically does lover follows friend.
To you I was a means; for me this is the end.
A Means to an End

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