residence: to all the girls who had my heart

tori

your eyes lit up when you knew
that i wrote a poem for you.
little did you know, innocent girl,
i still write novels for her.

i do not settle down.
(let's start with a bang now.)
sure, you can expect sweet words, some gifts;
but after four weeks i change shifts.

see, i live off of hearts broken by me.
give or take, two weeks: you'd be number three.
was it four? more? their eyes looked the same anyway,
the way the hope would drain in a minute of intense pain.

you know, i'll break your heart when this is over.

it's not sadism.
it's realism.
it's pragmatism.
i'll break your heart.
i'll call it art.
(when shall we start?)