What Can I Say?

If there is a time to say the words to you, It will come by moonlight while I am under another man. Grunting and breathing, but saying no names.
You will call me on the phone and say, your heart is sorry, you were a dick, but I have come to know, your words have no meaning.
They lay impotent, like your conscience or the dictionary version of love.
Then, the sad news of your stint in rehab, your hatred of your mother, the girl you once loved but lost in  a card game, will come like a waterfall, washing the memories from my body.
Then, as if nothing ever happened, you will disappear, in vapors, because you were a ghost.
You said you kept dying. You couldn't stop dying. And that was why.
The men.
It is true. They are interchangeable. As are the messengers that come to me when I am sleeping. They all say the same thing---wait for something authentic. They don't have eyes, but their voices are so melodious, it's hard to not pay attention. But, I am lonely. I am no waiter.
In the end, on your death bed, you will say you wanted someone to hold your hand.
But all you wanted was to be seen as glamorous and shining brighter than those who stare numbly at your beauty. It is true, your face is beautiful, were it only a reflection of your self, then we would be getting somewhere.
The truth is, you are only smoke and mirrors. You wave your hands wildly in a show that says: Look at me! Look who I'm saving, while you make fun of your own grandmother's teeth or the girl who loved you because she knew you before you were so jaded. Or maybe she didn't understand your words for what they were---a way to enlarge your collection.
It is not a judgement. I have known many people like you and for that I am sad. The punk rocker with a giant tattoo saying, we shouldn't have done this. It was a dragon, but I can't remember his name.
The thing I can't shake, is the potential you. The one who came to me in the night. The one who said, don't be angry until I fuck up and then be angry, but let me back in. The one who said, I have no words to put to the amount of regret I feel. The regret of a cold heart.
It's not hard. It wasn't hard. That's why you couldn't stick it in. You think I didn't want you, but you also said, I'm not new at this, when clearly you were.
Put your mouth there, you don't know what you're doing. God was stupid in giving you something you couldn't handle. And yet, here we are.
You with your cock in your hand in front of the internet porn. There  on that roulette site, watching other guys dicks in their hands. Pretending to be something you aren't.