Tuesday, January 25, 2011

The Downtime Of Most Men's Favorite Part, Exclusion From Her Heart

She quoted some song by a band I've never liked,
something about not knowing if she were ever loved
by any of the hands that had crossed her flesh,
I giggled at the song choice but became saddened
by how true those words seemed, though, I promise you,
this will not change my idea of how crappy that band is

Anyhow, I don't know if I have been either,
touched by any hands that have loved me,
usually I find myself only being touched
by the most broken hearted and generally broken,
no woman I've ever thought was great
has swept me off my fucking feet
or allowed me to do the same for her,
not that I've needed it, but it'd be nice
to know what such a wonderful thing feel like

Instead, like the world's worst comicbook hero
I stumble into a woman's life at one of her
many, many down points, I say a few "new to her" things
and find myself balls deep inside my latest mistake
because it feels nice to be someone's greatest thing,
if only for a brief moment, as if I'm saving her

Using the bedsheet as a cape
and my words as a superpower
I charge into the mind of women
who'd rather not have me in there,
only to find the kryptonite that is their hearts,
these dark masses that've grown so cold that no amount of capes,
words or fucking can make them beat with any signifigant warmth

© 2011 William A. Robertson (All Rights Reserved)