July 2 2019      2min read     

on losing interest

by Archy Will He

Interest is like a sprinkle of dust

Lost casually in the whisper of the wind

When they are not lost they accumulate and become colonies

where bacteria and fungi meet and dance and sing

and forget about the night

Death is upon them

the same way death is upon us

I could have made out with you the first night we met

when we were in your room

I moved away from you as you moved close to me

I was shy and killed the conversation

I paid the rent and left in a hurry

I could have made out with you the second night we met

when we were in your room

I commented on how sad the song was and killed the night

when I could have hugged you and licked your tears and sorrow away

we were both so drunk and stoned and happy that we met

a song played and reminded you of a memory

I sat there savoring the sadness in your misted eyes

without actually tasting them

I could have made out with you that Friday night

when I was on acid and you got really drunk and started flirting with me in the bar

in the backseat of the car you leaned towards me and let me touch your thigh

but that was the wrong night

and then there were the nights

that were not the wrong nights

I could have made out with you

I always killed the night too late


Sexy little thing, you are growing old

You are growing old and forgetting about things

You are growing old and losing interest in things

Sexy little thing, I’m growing old

I’m growing old and forgetting about things

I’m growing old and losing interest in things

I boarded the train

the moment it no longer saddened me

when I toyed with the idea of never seeing you again.

Thanks for the love


I miss you

the same way I don’t

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