Cubicle Spunk Depression

No memories to denounce or decay

I love your fatal “hows?”
The way you catch me year long
Under and over all seasons
Washed with snow
Drowned in puddles
Buried inside flower mounds
Floating on poisoned oceans

Rivers and snakes
Psuedo detachment from say….
Buddies are fakes

I love your doom finale
with all that
How can you do those things to me
And still cry you love me?
How can you smile after telling me these things?
So I wait in the future
For any new reason.

She says: Word??? Who are you now?