But I suppose everyone imagines
why and where it is they're gonna die,
and if we are buried or if we fly.
It is never admirable when a young man
just simply can't move on.
And now I know you were the cowardly one.
I wish I had kicked that god damn door in,
finding both of you on the floor,
realizing your sweethearts a whore
really takes an immeasurable toll.
Darlin' you can bet you'll see my ghost,
and yeah it's true, I still dream about you
grinding my mouth and losing my teeth
you're exactly what a nightmares for.
Commonly I write more than I speak of love,
with sticks and stones and shattered bones,
But I still miss you
thats what funerals do.
I miss you when your sleeping
and I find it hard to eat
everything reminds me of your little ghost.
So don't you bleed out an apology
you'll always be a robber to me.
I was packing up my things like a bat out of hell,
and you were slowly slipping on your dress.
Hours before you were claiming you loved me
and hours ago you weren't home but you were fucking.
You seem so fine being away,
away from my body and away from my blood,
like a fire we never lit.
Now I'm looking west with the heaviest heart
that I can ever recall feeling,
and time is not the answer I want to hear
but it's the only answer I'll be givin'.
Would Bukowski stop writing because a woman shattered his heart?
fuck no.