Tuesday, February 4, 2014

You snarky little turd, Depression

You have a mouth like a sailor. Why do you curse like that? I see you coming but I will not fall prey to your wiles. You will not convince me of any more drama.  I see you, sneaking about, peering around the corners of my mind.  Piss off and take your demon brother Anxiety with you. I will let you in if I must but we are not going to bed. We will be business acquaintances at best.  I will not even friend you.  You may be reliable, familiar, even seductive, but this is a dance I prefer to sit out.  Ropes course?  No.  Not more than a promise of hypothetical coffee. I would rather keep it down to a polite nod to acknowledge we know one another but no longer really connect.  Take care.  Call me.  (I will consider it a butt dial).

No comments:

Post a Comment