pessimist

I’ve written you 10,000 words
just to say “I want to talk,”
shooting myself in the foot so
often I can hardly walk.
I’m a dimwit if I tell the truth,
the devil if I lie,
a pessimist to walk away,
a masochist to try.

Wanting to believe in what you
say, I act as if it’s true,
but my gut is seething when I’m
translating the things you do.
I’m a moron if I force a smile,
a monster if I cry,
a pessimist to walk away,
a masochist to try.

Chances may be squandered as I
stare at hypersonic clocks.
I don’t know if they’re spent or if
they’re still alive in your black box.
I’m presuming if I raise the lid,
insipid if I’m shy,
a pessimist to walk away,
a masochist to try.