Low Note

What does it matter?
If I broke and you could fix me,
with a future of something more temporary
than the breath escaping shredded lips,
the water in my never-emptying glass.
I’m afraid the future doesn’t exist,
I’ve been efficient in filling punctures,
that come with giving your heart
to someone hungry for something more.
At least my experience has taught me,
I am a gentle, kind girl,
simple enough so you can't fall in love,
someone,
who breaks down, and cries themselves asleep,
from the ache of tying oneself into clever knots, and colorful weaves,
to occupy your short attention,
to earn your special words.