she's young, she said,
    but look at me,
    I have pretty ankles,
    and look at my wrists, I have pretty
    wrists
    o my god,
    I thought it was all working,
    and now it's her again,
    every time she phones you go crazy,
    you told me it was over
    you told me it was finished,
    listen, I've loved long enough to become a
    good woman,
    why do you need a bad woman?
    you need to be tortured, don't you?
    you think life is rotten if somebody treats you
    rotten it all fits,
    doesn't it?
    tell me, is that it? do you want to be treated like a
    piece of shit?
    and my son, my son was going to meet you.
    I told my son
    and I dropped all my lovers.
    I stood up in a cafe and screamed
    I'M IN LOVE,
    and now you've made a fool of me ...
    I'm sorry, I said, I'm really sorry.

    hold me, she said, will you please hold me?


    I've never been in one of these things before, I said,
    these triangles ...


    she got up and lit a cigarette, she was trembling all
    over. she paced up and down, wild and crazy. she had
    a small body. her arms were thin, very thin, and when
    she screamed and started beating me I held her
    wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred,
    centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and
    sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted.
    there was no living creature as foul as I
    and all my poems were
    false.

Charles Bukowski