You are fucked up and it might be final
Or might you have hope that I fix you?
Certainly not, I am not qualified,
not daring enough, neither courage, nor insight
Just the desire – there.
You cried while – or after? – randomly kissing
my body parts – or was it systematic?
Telling me what an awful thing happened to you
were dumped by a girl you never loved
as you told her in certain terms
a good many times.
And then you fell in love you thought
Hopelessly yearning for a bubble
You had burst before it was blown.
You cried and I smiled smugly when
you told me you could love me
when you'd put this behind you
plus my behind is nicer, too.
Or so you thought. True, the next day
you apologized I found cumbersome
but showed understanding
in case more is coming
my way.
You are fucked up and it's final
No hope, no way, no fixing
It's dawning on my understanding
while I bathe my face in the violet hue
I know you are fucked up
so I can love you.