What’s the point?

He said “You know, it’s going to be hot!”
I said “It’s hot already, I wake up in
the morning all
sweaty and
you’re not here!”

It’s June and it’s summer now again.
I wake up in mornings and find myself
alone as always. And I become depressed.

I’m grumpy, I’m lonely, I’m old, I’m stupid,
I’m poor, I’m broke. I’m not happy! And I’m
of no use or joy for anyone. My life is shit.

Why are we doing this, what’s the point?
Couldn’t we just face it’s impossible, and
stop keeping the other on the rack, just
forget about it and move on with our lives?

(No, I don’t want that, he said miserable.)

I’m so fed up with the limitations in life,
I fear I any minute will lose my head and
just walk straight out of my apartment.
Never to come back.

(People do strange things, and you can’t
why – but then you get your
own moment, and you
clearly see what
set the trigger for some of us.)

I’m buried alive in my coffin of welfare
poverty. No assets – and thus no love.
But it’s surely an existence with a well
functioning sewage system. Etcetera.

And now it’s  summer once again and it’s
hot. I wake up all sweaty in mornings
and he’s not here. What’s the point?

Woman on park bench, Central Park, New York, 1957. Photography by Yale Joel.











Woman on park bench, Central Park, New York, 1957. Photography by Yale Joel.
This entry was posted in living in the world, love story, poems, Poetry, rebellious lovers and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to What’s the point?

  1. yasb says:

    Thanks. And yes, I will do that.

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