Dan's Probably Gonna Break Up With Me

Status: Finished

Dan's Probably Gonna Break Up With Me

Status: Finished

Dan's Probably Gonna Break Up With Me Dan's Probably Gonna Break Up With Me

Poem by: Kathleen Megquier

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Genre: Poetry

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Summary

Just read it.

Summary

Just read it.

Content

Submitted: January 14, 2012

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Content

Submitted: January 14, 2012

A A A

A A A


 

I pray my dreams will kill me. 

I hope they play a trumpet symphony at my funereal. 

Bells, every cell in the room collaborating with joy, because I have finally been destroyed. 

All powers within Evil’s access, so mischievous, without conquest. That is me. 

Allow the revolution to begin. Empowerment bestows us, liberation falls upon us. 

Isn’t life a little brighter without me lurking in a bleak corner, me standing in the middle of everyone’s peace, harmony, and clarity. 

I fog everything up, cloud up everyone’s windows with muck and murk. 

Everything is clean, pristine, and whimsical. Birds chirp, angles sing. 

Happiness, every individual smile illuminated with glee. 

Oh, melancholy me. Oh, monstrous me. Oh, incredibly, destructive me. 

The world can finally be rid of my sea of anguish, my lavish gifts tainted with alternative motive. Nothing’s unconditional. Not while I’m around. I need the entire town as my beck and call girl. My slave. I’m tremendously unworthy of everyone’s praise. But than there’s you. Simplistic, miraculous with your words. You. But none of it seems to add up? You say all these things, elaborate all these pretty pictures on my dark screen of decay. But what do words accomplish? What do pictures represent? Fantasy. Oh a fantasy. Let’s travel. We sleep in meadows, get our nourishment from rainbows, we make love every moment of the day. Oh wondrous world of perfection. We kiss under the stars, our vacation spot, Mars. Gravity and oxygen is beneath us. We  now seek three of us. There’s this baby, a beautiful, tremendously gifted baby. The negative from each of our gene pools is relinquished, only the positive traits are what’s demonstrate in our child’s brain. 

It grows up happy and fulfilled, within it’s safe confinements, a bricked house of gold. 

Now we’re old. Rocking swiftly in our chairs of  wood. Thin glasses on the brim of my nose, I turn to look at you, wrinkles engraved in the smooth, flawless, skin I’ve grown to fall so deeply in love with. Yet it’s all the same, our perfect montages of sane. You’ll never have that. You’ll never reach that with me. It’s this disease. Attached to you, attached to she, attached to me. It’s absorbing my flesh, and it soon to yours. Go while you can, evaporate from this ending scene. Deteriorate with the final credits, this movie is over. I’m dead, gone and rotting. Find serenity in a heart that’s pure. A heart that hasn’t been bruised and tarnished, hasn’t been replenished with the nectar of  Satan’s juice. Forever I’ll induce you to a life of misery. A life of insanity. Run now, lock the chambers of your heart now. While you still have a remaining chance at safety.


© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.

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