You write all these happy tunes
Because they suit your voice better
(Much better than they suit me)
I'm stuck writing crappy poems
about growing bitter
With my over-simple rhyme schemes.
AB, CB, baby.
You see what I mean?
Maybe you'd be happy
With me,
It's a possibility.
But here's another night up late
Feeling fate pooling at my feet.
I try to hold it in my arms, and
It slips through like wet noodles.
And I fear you'd be too
Skeptical for this
Omphaloskeptic
Haruspex, anyway.
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