So this is how I go

I used to know you to know you, until to know you was to know no one. Then we tried love. I did not know you then, nor did I know why. I did know something more -- that of you I always knew less with time. But this is not poetry. This is life, if we let it. Fiction if we regret it. Don't we regret everything? If nothing is perfect we should. Then we should. Our perfect is not perfect, because I'm too complicated. I'm sorry dear. I used to say simply simple things. Then I heard fake tears. The crackle of drunk street prommenades a site two thirty, when the drunk don't know where's home.

I sit and wait by the phone and sigh and check the tone. Knew it then, know no how, but the why when you're cynical it's so simple. But I'm complicated. I breathe the no for conflict, so I can know resolution. Sometimes it won't come -- there -- we're left with an end. No. Because I know no simple, complex in the end and streaming back now know no friend. Double agents here, Leva, Lea Han driving my hand and friend.

Nonsense. Known is to sense and mind. No, no. Yes, but we'll end here. Or not.

I don't like time. No, know I don't, but we're made to know it. Go by it. Then rely on it and die by it if we die by it in a hospital bed. Until then I go by what I know, and live by what I don't.