the lost cornucopia

there may be no answer

to that question made by

the irresponsible soul-eater

who made me believe i could fly

to places where i shall not be

except when i am with you

and to stay decide we

then you tell me

that i have to go

even though i feel

it was my (and your) place

i must face

that to you i am nothing but a bill

which comes and goes

every single month

as your fortune flows

into your throat

for i have been taught

life has already been easier

to the ones who have loved and fought

and i will be here forever

listening to a funny little love song

made by cole porter

and you will be there with your lungs

that can breath (surprisingly)

despite your (hellish) cornucopia

of self-esteem and tears and a (remarkably)

salty distance and phobias