This is a world where nothing really works,
where disappointment elbows out belief.
Behind each spurt of hope, a let-down lurks.
Each valiant voyage founders on some reef.
But you? You've never known a moment's care.
Those lips are strangers to the bitter residue
which makes my only fare. You toss that hair,
and doors are opened eagerly to you.
I've nurtured this bleak love for far too long.
I've dragged it like a chain around my feet,
across my wilderness. No longer strong,
I'm broken-down, diminished, incomplete.
Whatever you dislike, you simply slough.
No hand-me-downs for you, no dregs or crumbs.
Regret has never creased that lovely brow.
You just expect fine things, and fine things come.
I've no illusions left. It's run its course.
I've tried to give you up, resign, recant.
And you who never weep, or feel remorse,
I've tried so hard to curse you. But I can't.