I'm writing this as i think of it,
Words spilling out onto the virtual page
Like an avalanche of expression,
who'd know that pent up thoughts would explode in this way?
Trying to control myself, the pills I'm on aren't working,
And so i medicate myself with alcohol,
But that too, is losing its effect.
I miss the girl that i once loved.
I wish i could call her a woman but her actions suggest otherwise.
Forethought infidelity is is inexcusable,
And it's a wonder that i don't hate all women equally.
But one can't judge the many by the actions of the few,
If nothing else, our generation should have have learnt that lesson already.
The truth is that I still think about that girl.
And still wake up expecting to find her breathing softly next to me.
But every time I don't it's both a comfort and another wound to add to my collection.
Well, what else did we expect from this life?
Like life itself, this poem isn't perfect.
It's because just like life, this poem expands as time goes on,
And isn't given the luxury of revision.
I suppose we all have to accept the fact that life was never meant to be perfect.
And as soon as this is realized, it becomes that much easier.
