waste paper basket...

I’m trying to write you
love notes, sexy notes,
but I’m so used to tragedy.

I want to say: I want you,
but it comes out — Don’t come any closer.

I want to say: I love you,
but it comes out — I want you to ruin me, break me, chew me up then spit me out, render me meaningless, I only want to get out of this half dead.

I want to say: I miss you,
but I spin in circles instead,
write this tragedy down,
dizzy and incoherent,
tragic and unsexy.