ABOUT THE POEM: This is the ultimate tragedy of the speaker's worldview. He believes he lacks the resources (money, intellect, guile) to compete. He feels he cannot buy love, trick people into love, or negotiate for love. This lack of "currency" leaves him feeling completely defective and destined for the "darkness of loneliness." It is a very dark, honest exploration of what happens when a person feels they have been permanently locked out of the human experience of love.Fake love is better than real.
At least you can receive it
in any amount you want.
It can’t deceive you-just believe it.
It won’t manipulate you, though you can.
It won’t blackmail you or break your heart;
it only fulfills your desires
with whomever you want.
Just take whatever you want
in this make-believe world.
Fake people are getting all the real love.
Dry to the bone, lovelorn,
I fight back; I consume fake love.
In the end, what never happened to me
was love.
Before I die, I let myself feel it.
Yes, this is all fake,
but I am real, and she is real.
Call it tit for tat-my dick and her ass-
but what then happens to the soul,
with due respect?
Life sits on the verge of ending
in the darkness of loneliness.
The fear I carried
is becoming real.
Everything before my eyes repeats
like a final goodbye.
I don’t know what you might be thinking
at the age of forty-two in your own life,
but the frustration that kept me chained
my whole life
has reached an explosive end.
The world has moved on,
and I am left behind.
This feeling since I was seventeen
has crushed me even in sleep.
Those with money arrange company,
those with minds manipulate,
some bargain with love.
I am so dumb.
I have none.
