There probably isn’t anything I could
Say to make you get this—
The burden belongs to me because
I know that people listen—good
Or bad, they really don’t want to have to say
So I talk. And talk. And talk—trying
To figure out what it is they really
Want said—so that I say it, just the way
They want it said.
Rubbish. Tell me I’m so full of myself
I can stop worrying. It’s all a façade.
They’ll all do whatever they want anyway—
I have no power; nor, do I want it.
Except, of course, you do.
Surely you want that, too?
I would love for you to say, “I do.”
I had you figured differently–until
Yesterday…And then I knew…
You’re just as sick as I am, fool.