Memory of Me At Twenty
I am twenty.
I am in love.
She is beautiful.
But has a tongue
as sharp as a razor.
I should run away.
As fast as I can.
Instead I get out the
grindstone and
sharpen it more.
I think she is
Seeing other men.
We fight
She slashes me
with her tongue.
I throw a cup at the wall.
It smashes into shards.
Just to show her
what bad things
good people could do.
I break the silence.
I love you
I whisper.
What I should have said.
Was
Don't leave me
I hate sleeping alone.
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