Beyond Repair


Call me misanthropic, but
I grew sick of making people feel special
Of the concept of folie a deux
Inkhorn hearts and friendships formed
In a mutual forlorn feeling

Call me misogynistic, but
I am oh so sick of women wallowing in conceit
Of falling for the idea of a love so true
Plaintive soliloquies and bonds never broken
As long as two hearts beat in sincerity

But I am the grandest of fools
For part of this delirious brain
Still holds tight to a blood-soaked slither of hope
And regularly gets lost
In dime-store romanticism
And fervent dreams
Of brown-eyed girls
In idyllic small towns
That could never exist