I think, as I hear John Lennon’s voice
singing, “I Am the Walrus,”
in my head only I hear it as “pizza man”
not Eggman, and realize
I was supposed to another
of her “working things out fucks,”
and I turned it into something else,
something ugly,
something it was never meant to be,
while I ached for it to be
something it could never be,
and realize it is my own damned fault,
thinking about the playwright
she wrote about aching to be bad
if just for one night,
and turning it into art instead,
while she was bad and liked it,
until I ruined it and turned it
all into something ugly,
dream turned into nightmare
we both have to live through
until maybe someday
one or both of us wakes up.
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