But it’s not like there’s profit for you:
I’m used goods,
and of little use to your industry.
My cents, little use for your coffer,
and I guess we could date, sure.
But I’m used goods,
and I don’t do well with charity.
Not from others.
Not from you.
Even when I do take it shamelessly.
I’m bad at saying thank you,
as I am with so many things.
I’ve forgotten to be confident.
They say it’s like riding a bicycle,
you never forget…
…but I did forget both those things.
We are so completely different.
You: body, cash, suit, and tie.
I’m spirit, becoming more incandescent,
preparing to die.
How much more could I take?
How much more could you lose?
Life was once about want and choose,
and I am no longer either of those things.
I’m a spoilt vessel,
a wasted opportunity.
Who am I to ask the mountain for love?
I’m used goods.
A breath of wind.