Why must you torture me
in everything that you do?
You torture me
in everything that you do.
I don't have that much room
in my mental notepad
to remember your
little tendencies, quirks.
So I'll write them
on the corner of this
sheet of paper,
and I'll just hope I remember
since I won't ever
flip back to this
page again, even though
I just might become a hoarder
saving all the books I've written
something in-
something about you,
something that describes you,
something to remember you by.
And when I need to go on
some television show
(so they can clean me up)
where I'll
embarass the hell out of myself
showing the nation what
a mess I've made of myself
wanting to remember you,
when they see that
so much more lies behind
the piles and piles and piles
than what I want them to know,
maybe you'll,
at long last,
be tuned in.