let’s get to the point to
say that nothing’s wrong
when our mothers ask
if we’re upset.
let’s get to the point to listen
to the rainfall or stand in the hallway
soaking wet
rubbing our sleepless eyes
in the middle of the night
is our way of saying “thanks”
coughing fits that never cease
state that we are unreal,
we should snap out of this.
let’s get to the point where
we send ourselves letters
and wait for the mailman
excited as ever.
the point is (in which i shall point out)
is we should be nailing shut
our coffin doors
and turning out the lantern lights.
i should get to the point of
“i should have never laid eyes on you”
I should make it a point to
point out how i’ve ruined you, too.
I should really get started on
making that grave
I should really get going
on leaving you, babe.
and i’ll say “i’m sorry!”
and you will say “it’s okay.”
and by next week, you won’t remember my name
and by next year, you won’t recognize this face.
and now i’m sorry.
again.
and this is what making points is all about.