The Floor
Written from the point of view of a man who asked a woman to love him, deeply. He promised he’d do better if she did. She loved him as deeply as he begged her to love him, but he didn’t do better. Attachment works as it does. She discovered loving him meant becoming accustomed to a newer, baser level of despair.
baby, pick yourself off the floor
I’m begging; pick yourself off the floor
the neighbours will be ringing and yelling
your brother coming through the door
baby doll, please
won’t you pick yourself off the floor
there ain’t nothing down there
ain’t nothing at all on those boards
just some roaches surfing your tears
silver fish feasting on my self-scorn
roaches and silver fish don’t got nothing nice to say
words of consolations and bon mots ain’t their forté
baby doll, please
won’t you pick yourself off the floor
baby doll, please, pick yourself off the floor
I told you once and I told you before
the stuff I say, you’d be better to ignore
So, baby, please, pick yourself off the floor
baby doll, please
won’t you pick yourself off the floor
Photos courtesy of the public domain. They have been altered.
https://pixabay.com/en/girl-lying-on-the-floor-girl-in-dress-1386195/
http://maxpixel.freegreatpicture.com/Smoking-Black-And-White-Man-Smoker-1245653
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A heartfelt thank you to those at the Steemit School for hosting the challenge:)