I tried

Cliche that I tried, cared and tried. Tattoos permanently on your thighs. Marilyn Manson the guise. Gay. Lame. Fake. Fruit flies. Sweet yet nasty. At the split you devise, the right life, you have comprised, transition, reprise. You're married now but where am I.

It's great to grow and behold. Feed and grow old. It was never in what I knew for you. You wild little screw. But trust im happy, maybe, fuck me. What I've seen is dirty, messy, and skitzy. Doesn't change a thing, I miss thee.

You are chubby, pink, and stinky. But you chose everything but me. Sour days in bed talking to mom. Her fly trap over flow-ed. You're dad drums of gold. I tried, you saw some value in a beat persistent as a nuclear mossad.

We shared good taste in music. You showed me Gun Ship. NO² fits. With our agressive addiction fit. Happy songs I never thought were congruent, with you. With me. Yet you let it be, with no commitment at this vanishing point.

Years later I wrote this, thunk this, hate this. Not at all worried you can dissect this. Attack this. And. Trivialize this. My only hope is you never see this.