I am tired of romance


I am tired of romance
because we are towels hung out to dry.
Every sense is on fire; my vision is a kaleidoscope of burnt-out oranges, reds, yellows.
I am tired of romance
because my heart is pulsing with too much blood; my head is careening on spokes of Ferris wheels.
I am tired of romance
because I can’t breathe, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, this continent’s too deep.
My brain shouts down through my jugular to my puppy love heart—past collarbone, veins, electricity—shut up, shut up.
I am tired of romance
I’m vibrating in tune to a circular beat,
a beat that endlessly drives, streaking ghastly violet, blue, pink, golden, on its selfish ring.
I am tired of romance
because I love someone.
It’s draining fast.
And now the hard-packed ground has devoured all the towel’s droplets—
I’m listless, floating, swinging in empty breeze.
I am tired of romance: it’s heavy; my heart hangs, like pebble, rock, boulder, cliff.

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