I Don't Know Anything About Normal Love

I don’t know anything about normal love.

If you want me to give you something sad,

Something sick,

Something sadistic,

I can present it in stunning Technicolor,

I can live inside the obsessive characters

Obsessive hearts,

Obsessive minds,

I don’t know anything about normal love.

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I don’t know anything about real love,

The sort of selfish selfless thing I thought,

I should feel,

I should know,

I only know the bruise that blooms where,

Love packed a suitcase to get cigarettes,

Get milk,

Get eggs,

I assure you that he won’t be back soon.

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I don’t know anything about lost love,

Because mine is kept close to my chest,

My trunk,

My key,

And everyone else’s is held out of reach,

So I can lash out and put on a show,

A screech!

A poem!

But none of it is ever too concrete.

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I don’t know anything about new love,

Even as you stand right in front of me,

Of us,

Of we,

Pretending that I’m perfectly normal,

And that we’ll be okay if we just try,

Just see,

Just dream,

And that love won’t hurt or walk away.

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