get out of me

I have too many romance words falling on dead ears

there are about a million 

of you

I'd whisper to

I keep urging to suck out my pretty whispers

but

maybe I'm urging too hard?

or

maybe my whispers are prettyless

or

maybe all of the millions x 2

ears on you 

are really truly dead ones

we're in the heat of summer

we're in the heat of bummer, now

  but actually, this is a total joke

   totes jk

hey

  hey

    hey

        wish I could make it tonight, for your performance

o imagine how I'd perform tonight!

  if only I wasn't

   just starring in this

    own boring show of mine

scially inpt

So... cially in-ept. Is it an unfair charge against me? What happens if today, for example, I have yet to see another person (I know, I've seen the grocers and their shoppers, the families of six and the couples in bushwick with a guitar and a dog), and I like it, I know not their names, I doubt to recognize a one of them again, we spend nothing addressing one another. I'd like very much to exist solitary in this apartment. I shouldn't make commitments: this is when I am rightly accused as fickle. Acting on whims. My whims today have me dress to leave for a party, then call and send off an abstract apology, the receiver may be offended, or angry, or anything, so I'm off the phone full of guilt feeling, at why can't I just go despite it. Also I'm proud to want to stay inside my house, to not have to put on a farce of friendliness, to impress those I know already and don't care to cavort with on this night, those I see almost daily for jobs I don't do but to save up money to just move to the different Country. To not drink, to not stuff myself full with pork though delicious it might be. There are beets  in my future, and spelt berries, and carrot juice. Romance running me up and down like the uterus of hysteria. I like to just look out the window and listen to thunder. I'm sorry for using up one of your rsvp s.