Don’t try to interpret me
You can’t make sense of this.
I’m numb to your oblivion
But the rest is taking some time.
Not teetering a precarious dream,
I’m not going to slit my wrists.
I can’t help but question.
My crime is my suicide.
I’d like to carry out a conversation.
I’ll talk about anything.
I wouldn’t mind a chance to be real.
You say you know me.
You say you know me.
So what do you know?
How can you know me,
When I hardly know myself?
Sarah Bursich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/how-s-this-for-a-f-king-interpretation/
