Teacups and Pens

Accidents

I love the way

you’ve presented yourself,

but the line blurs between

I love you

and

I admire your image.

I’m kind of done

writing meaningless

poetry about you.

But, that’s the thing.

I

just

can’t

stop.

There’s a tiny

green light

in your eyes,

but everything about you

screams stop.

And I think

I just realized

the breaks in my car

are

nonexistent.

Whoops.

If,

no, when,

when I come crashing into you,

don’t apologize.

Please.

Jesus, I hate when people

apologize.

No one is really sorry anymore,

anyway.

Just get out of your car,

and run.

Get the hell out.

I’ll sort everything out,

but I would really rather

you not see the wreckage.

I have a feeling

it might be

too

severe.

But listen,

it’s not your fault.

It really isn’t.

So don’t go

trying to take the blame,

like a gentleman.

I drag myself into places,

dark places,

places a girl like me

should never venture into,

even accidentally,

and I somehow make it out,

with a fooling smile

and a shiny potential

that looks like diamonds

against the rubber

underneath.

So just leave,

and don’t try to call.

I won’t pick up.

Maybe I’ll leave the country,

yes, that sounds nice,

and work somewhere

where I shall remain

anonymous.

Read in the local library,

drink expensive coffee,

flirt devilishly with young men,

but somehow,

escape the grasp of attachment.

Yes, that sounds nice.

Let’s just forget about this

little accident,

shall we?