Voicemails to My Summertime Fling

Tonight I went to a poetry bar.

Didn’t think much of it at first, a friend told me it was good idea.

“To relieve the mind on a summer night.” He said,

But tonight was different

Tonight, tonight was the first night a poem made me cry.

The idea that a person could relate

To someone such as I.

Our stories were so different

But the feelings stayed the same.

The idea that this artist-

This artist stood up there,

And spoke-

And had it reached my soul,

I felt like I couldn't breathe!

I felt a sharp pain-

But this pain in my chest,

Was not enough to confess-

To the love I had obsessed.

For she knows I love her,

But the fulfillment of playing along,

Was just never enough.

As I write and display,

My feelings of disgust-

Because I'm never good enough?

Spending every summer night wondering,

Does she even think of me?

So the best I could do

Was give her a call.

A call?

A call could never display the way I was enraged!

From every phone ring, my heart could sing.

But voicemails were all I could receive.

Voicemails and voicemails,

This kind of shit just smells

Like the kinda of shit you receive when you're left to deal with your own hell.

So she never answered.

And that's perfectly fine,

So we'll see who's perfectly fine when I draw the line from the tangled mess you left me to unwind.

Oh how I hate that you come to my life and just go-

And it felt like it really wasn't so slow,

You just come and just go-

But oh what a show,

To see how low- a guy like me could possibly go.

Friendliest faces,

That often erases from human persuasion,

To make me believe that I am my own creation from this equation.

Almost as simple e=mc2-

But really it just isn't fair!

Oh please don't you dare,

Make me share, on how our lives are really so unfair…

So that I could just care...less!

So don’t think you could just come for a second,

And leave with a lesson-

On why the thought of us should never ever be mentioned!

For very warm nights under stars never meant a thing

And neither does the voicemails.

But you were summertime fling, oh boy does that sting.