Gay Poetry

   

Better Than Blaine

Byron D. Howell

It kills me when it seems you come and go.
You're better at these tricks than David Blaine.
There are no strings above you or below -
but all my joy is somehow changed to pain.

It seems you pull these stunts before my eyes.
Perhaps you slide on out just when I blink?
Still, when you leave a part of me just dies.
You've no idea the depths to which I sink.

If you can't stay around too long, then leave.
I'd rather live without your magic act.
I've got a trick myself you won't believe -
I'll snap my finger, my bags will be packed.

Your selfish ways are just too much to bear -
it's now my turn to vanish into air.





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