Impulsively

Impulsively

A cautionary word is what I need when I
begin to think and see a hike I like, or a river
to kayak on, or a beautiful girl to love.

When I impulsively do things as I have during my life as
if there were no strings, I now have to pay with pain for
doing what used to gain respect with no side effects.

I’d drop the thought if I heard that therapeutic word STOP!
I’m not a kid any more I’d see, or even young enough to take a plunge,
or hurry across the street without suffering

pain from taking steps faster than I’m used to. It’s tough to
think that I’ve reached a point where my body has aged past
the point where it can’t easily recuperate.

Inside my head, I’m only 22, but my physique disagrees and acts as
though I’m 104. Which isn’t true, but looking at you looking at me
as I try to compete and show I’m still fleet, I come to believe

in your eyes I need a mojo to win your heart even though you have
ways I don’t understand. Years that separate us form notions,
emotions, and potions that flow at different speeds and we see

different things. Before I get too deep, I need to think of that
word to stop me from getting pretty girl blues over you. If I
do, I won’t suffer physical pain as I usually do for my impetuosity.

I’ll be psychologically damaged and tormented inside my head instead.
There’s no escape, unless I take drugs and drink to clear thoughts of you while I
cry into my beer, but that’s only good until the next day when I hear a whisper

and a picture of you appears before my eyes. To tell the truth, I go in search of
Gypsy Tooth Ruth who’s famous for making oceans of love potion # 9. I find her
at Hollywood and Vine where she sells her potions. I ask for one to erase

pretty girl blues that I caught from you. “It’s going to cost you,” Gypsy Tooth said.
“You’re not the first to ask for love to be reversed. What I have to do isn’t in any book,
so don’t look while I whip it up.” I closed my eyes, and when I did, she poked my finger

and said, “Sign here, and don’t you dare look.” I scribbled my name on what, I didn’t know, but as my finger traced my name, I dreamed of you and wished you’d come home with me.
She cackled and said, “You’ve just sold your soul. Now you’re unable to sit at the table of love.”

I opened my eyes and saw the contract she held dripping with my blood and it was true.
I no longer loved you or anything else. This is how it feels when you’re without love and owe your soul to, Who? The urge to know became so strong I impulsively jumped in front of a bus,

because I couldn’t wait to see if I’d smile or not when I saw who’d claim my loveless soul.

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