letter sixteen

Hey Bitch!

Go hang yourself! I’m sick of your goddam nicey, nicey, peekaboo games. If you want to come in, then come in, shut the door, sit down in that chair, be here and let me look at you. But damn it, if you want to play clever with me then I’m not playing at all, and that’s it! Why not just move over and let Beelzebub have the space he deserves? What? Oh, you’ve already discussed it with him and agreed a joint strategy? Well, then damn the pair of you! I’m going to Hell.

Yours, etc.


Here’s a poem a wrote when I was still giving you the benefit of the doubt. I see I called it “Looking for Love”. Huh! Why do I bother?

I met an old lady of 82
looking for love,
I met a young girl who was terribly blue
looking for love,
I met a thin greyhound whose eyes implied
she was looking for love,
I met a fat priest who never lied
who said he was looking for love.
I knew a man with no further to fall
who was looking for love,
I met the most beautiful woman of all
looking for love,
the husband and wife of 25 years
are still looking for love,
the one that is sighing but nobody hears
is looking for love.
The birds and the plants and the wind and the wave
are looking for love, all looking for love,
Oh God, we’re all looking for love.



About danarose

Textbook ENFP, if you're into that stuff (I am SO into that stuff). I love mountains and the ocean and my largest ambition in life is getting all of the people I love to live on the same block, to cook dinner, and talk with them every night.
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