what must I do

whatever is this,
is that,
that I must do

to fix that broken love thing.

Wow. What a bitch.

Years of this. Four.

Four years of broken love thing.

It never occurred to me that it could go on that long.

that broken love thing.

That broken love thing keeps coming up though,

through the mud

like strong frogs and odd fish.

It's here again. That evolved fucked up broken love thing.

Oh, well, fuck. Here you are again, oh broken-eyed beauty

with your strange new tails, and your twisted, yet strong limbs.

You're here again, to offer, your broken love sump.

That which could suck me in, yet again, yet again.

Not too cool.

But still, I think.

And still, I wait.

And still, I imagine.

But yet, I care, and care and care

because you were not there

too many times, oh dear one.

Not there.