This is why I'm single... |
The party was over And I just had to go for a walk I’m in love and I’m fucked Because my love is pure and righteous Huge and all-encompassing Vulgar and primordial Undeniable and unchainable In other words, My love is super special I’m in love and I am completely fucked And now I really need to go for a walk This isn’t like the last time … I was in love with the sex Or the time before that … I was in love with the money Or the time before that … the sex again Or the time before that … I was really drunk… for a month No! This time it’s for real I’m in love and I’m totally fucked This girl… she’s got me all strung out I think of her And pieces of old rock ballads roll through my mind I think of her And I want to lay her down on a bed of roses Even though every rose has it’s thorn Because I need her tonight More than words So come on feel the noise I’m in love and I’m loosing my mind And I really need this walk How do you prepare yourself for something like this? How do you rationalize this? This love thing… It’s overrated, really It’s like buying a pet All well and good at first But eventually it’s just gonna be yet another small tragedy You’re puppy is going to die And love… yes, love is going to die I’m in love and I am totally, completely fucked And I can’t walk far enough And why the fuck do we fall in love anyway? To validate our existence or some Freudian shit like that? Are we just gluttons for punishment? In the closet mental sadomasochists at heart? Or is it just a chemical anomaly due to our inherent prerogative To perpetuate the species? I mean, What’s so special about this girl? What’s the difference between her and every other girl I’ve ever met? She’s good looking, But I’ve seen better … but none with a smile quite so enchanting… She’s intelligent, But I’ve met smarter … but none that sound so cute when talking about Dostoevsky… She’s witty, But I’ve heard funnier … but none that could recite Monty Python AND Dennis Leary at a whim… I don’t get it Wait… no… I do get IT I just don’t understand IT I’m in love and I’m being redundant And I’m running My ego is an iron maiden My id is an old black man My libido is hooked on crystal meth And I still can’t stop smoking cigarettes And I can’t stop thinking about her About running my fingers through her hair … a forest of the finest silk threads Gazing into her eyes … deep and blue as the tropical sea, and just as easy to sink into and lose myself in Feeling her pale skin beneath my fingers … smooth and flawless like polished marble Kissing her burgundy lips … as sweet as wine, opening to my probing tongue like a supple rose bud I’m a fucking poet That’s why I can say shit like that and get away with it! I’m in love and I’m making bad analogies And my feet hurt The longing for a destiny is nowhere stronger than in our romantic life. All too often forced to share our bed with those who can not fathom our soul, Can we not be forgiven if we believe ourselves fated to one day stumble across the lover of our dreams? And when we do find them, what then? In the beginning it’s all special and new. Every day together is a day to remember. The sex is great, and the conversations are endless. Anniversaries are celebrated by the week, the month, the six month, and then… holy shit… the year. Yeah, the year. It all changes from there By then you know too much. Every idiosyncratic habit that defies your idea of what this person should be become magnified and unignorable. Petty arguments become full blown fights. The conversations dry up And the romance dies And pretty soon not even the sex is good, Unless it comes immediately after a fight. So you fight just to have make-up sex And that just makes shit worse. And a little bit further down the line, Even that goes away. When presented with the proposition of sex, She’d rather be watching reruns on cable And you’d rather be drinking So much for love… But who’s to say we even get that far? Sure. I could set the ball in motion Tell her how I feel Make my love known… I can see the conversation already I could call her up, Invite her out for coffee And while sitting there With an espresso And her I could find some smooth Slick Suave way to broach the subject Of me And her And while I profess my undying passion and devotion Bearing my heart and soul She can sit there and stare blankly And say nothing Until “I think you’re a really great guy” or “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now” or “We can still be friends, right?” Sure. This would send me into a downward spiral Of hate and self-loathing I’d drink more than usual Not answer my phone Be an asshole to anyone I came in contact with Glare menacingly at any couples I passed on the street Throw pocket change with deadly precision at anyone I saw kissing in public And write really shity poetry I think I’ll pass. I’m in love and she’ll never know I’m in love and I’m going home |