Blood and Ink II

My canticle.
No apologies will be made for who I am
- No fucks were given in the crafting of this poem.

Flirting and laughing come naturally,
Giacomo would be proud-er still if my intellectual pursuits matched my physical ones
But I'm still young - enough not to give a damn - about things like that anyway.

So who writes history?
I want to write my own.
I want to write yours, ours, if there's a you out there.

If not. Then there's nothing wrong with walking alone.
We were born that way.
We ultimately die that way.

So no apologies.
For the truth.
Apologies for the lack of forewarning.

We drink.
We lie ... down with strangers, giving them ourselves.
But to what end?

Boy meets girl.
Boy loves girl. They work. They break up.
To what end?

Till death do us part?
But someone may just leave.
So ... they End.

So we seek an escape.
Drugs. Seclusion. Other people.
No one wants to see their own mistakes.

But you write your history.
Only you can account for every single action you've taken.
Consider this a kick up the ass.

"The only person you control is yourself."