Missing the feeling of hating love
I have always been skeptical about many things.
Skeptical of this, skeptical of that,
yet until now, I still do not know what skeptical really means.
Recall the endeavors behind my moon;
every struggle so fancifully dined,
cocktails of poison so carefully concocted.
But I survived.
I survived by making myself survive.
The power all in my hands
to crush everything in my way-
(who am I kidding?)
I was never in favor.
Of jealousy and envy and
of pure dislike.
But I knew I was the middle class,
I was adroit.
And the cherry on the sundae,
was the love of young boys' hearts
Devoured!
Leaving only the branched skeleton.
Similarly now, but
I am on the other side.
Never liked love still,
Never loved one.
Full of envy and jealousy,
still disliked, yet as clever as a mad cow eating mead.
Self pity is ambivalent.
The pleasure of seeing a young boy's heart served
never appeared recent,
till here.
Why don’t I love one?
Why does it not skip a beat for any?
Conscience,
never thought I had it,
dug its way out of grounds to me.
Can’t slap a heart off the platter and smear it with feetsweat anymore.
I am no longer up there on the throne.
Just a lonely peasant,
feeling sad to say no
to a farmer's boy.
