So, lamenting to her, brokenly, Monday
I said, “No one ever wants to be with me.
And my presence or absence doesn’t make any difference.”
(I should have a black belt in self-pity)
I semi-jokingly said, “There is no one more rejected
On this side of the Genesee River.”
She said, “Come on, you’re kidding me.
You’re even worse than Morrissey.”
I said, “You’re only trying to make me feel better.
But I’d rather you hate me than treat me so indifferently.
Haven’t you recognised lately
That you always leave me feeling almost criminally lonely?”
The girl ventured, “And you’re really self-centered.”
I added, “And a musical genius.
See, when you’re always by yourself your life becomes no one else,
And your imagination tends to get reckless.”
And then she said, “I bet that’s tough, but if you listen long enough
You’ll see I know it’s only surface corruption.
If you’re some loser of the year, you’ve got a promising career
As the Church’s one and only exception.”
“The point is well taken,
But I never said that my faith was shaken.
It’s trivial, but everyone I meet
Very quickly gets a tendency to shake my dust off of their feet.
Oh, look what we’ve started.
Now I know what becomes of the broken-hearted.
And who gets the last word then?
If I let you, then make it true
Because I’ll need it when you leave again.