I knew this would happen.
I found another who would break me.
Predicable as it is, it stings like sodium
On my vulnerable gums.
You are not as real as you think you are.
And I have stood alone at many unfamiliar bus stops.
I have no anonymity and a heart that will love a thousand times.
In a thousand different beds,
Penetrating the early hours
Of a mistake.
You press me, squeezing the gunk from a tumour; a swelling that
Threatened your vacuum packed ideal.
You will never realise that I am not wrong.
I will learn not to mind.
The unplanning led you to blueprint yourself. It is your curse.
You charming idealist, have made yourself up.
It is not I who is imaginary.