The Day After

This would make good poetry

I think while she sits

With her knees tucked into her naked chest,

Tears like rain drops on the kitchen window

In mid October,

For every time I've let her down.

I am so profoundly bleeding,

On my face and along my shoulder blades,

And beneath my tattooed chest.

I don't know how to end a song anymore,

Or how to choose what vegetables to steam with a New York strip steak.

Insignificant moments augment in my mind,

And what matters most has been nearly forgotten.

That's my girl right there,

So keep her name out of your uncouth mouth.

But if I can forget who I want to be,

I don't have to be responsible for my actions,

And ruin whatever I want;

Run the streets.

My romance with contradictions will be the death of me

And this Hip Hop culture will be the death of us.