in visions, she was always there;
to my charms, quite defenseless —
yes, all my dreams were stupid ones:
for i myself, was senseless

i didn’t sense she hated me,
i didn’t sense her loathing:
i didn’t see she fair despised
my hair, cologne, and clothing

and so, the dreams persisted still
of walking there together,
of holding hands on sunlit days
or any kind of weather

but then, one day, i got some sense.
she told me i was hated:
a thing she long had longed to say
and said, while quite elated

to rid herself of one like me
and all my senseless dreaming:
yes, nothing bores a bigger hole
than getting a
good reaming