CP (4-8-72 / marlboro ma)

Buttons

Two in the morning, out from the house of blues
I swagger, one of harvard square's finest
stragglers, making my way to the squares
numerous taxi stands, brisk january air hurts
lungs for first few breaths, swimming head
clears slightly, focuses on surroundings
dimly light causeway leads me past steaming
manhole, which unfortunatly reminds me why I
took upon this venture to begin with.
Two stubborn lovers fighting about what exactly
can't recall, as a fellow, MIT sweatshirt wearing
lad stumbles out of my path, all around
cambridge's nocturnal emitions permeate my
scences, ears still humming with the sound from
faders buzz, heavey metal horns helped briefly
in my quest to releve pain, pressure, pride last
of which, I decided the moment I left the
apartment in a hot flash of anger, to swallow
and return to you, whom I love deeply.
Why do we engage in button pushing, escalating
smallest issues into hurtfull words, wedge
driven further between us, is this reconcilable
man its cold, catch cab, climb stairs, ask
forgivness for petty affair, can't take back
that which has been spoken, nor can I ignore
feeling somewhat worn, part of my phsichy torn
we need to heal each others emotinal scars my
love lest our tears run dry, good night see you
in the morning.

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