a poem written by a faust in eleventh grade

eleventh grade

(written during a particularly boring class)

the creases between my eyebrows

refuse to go away now

i used to believe in my -

self -

but forgot how

faith died with romance, but

melodrama

was last seen, quite alive,

with no one that i know

and it seems i can't turn pain into pleasure anymore

insatiably i hunger after each hour

but the days pass as quickly as before

reason has left

me the need for reasons but

blissful ignorance is

all-too-rare;

the creases grow and even 
though i want so much to, still,

i am unable

not

to care.

©1982, rev 2010, again 2020