Err.

He turned to me and said,
"I kind of regret it.
The fear, the anxiety,
And the sudden sense of solace,
The joy and disbelief
After hearing the desired response."
Fuck it, don't bother.
It doesn't even matter.
Put it in your pocket,
Let it ripen and grow,
Let it bloom,
Let it burgeon into something so terribly ugly
You can't bear to look at it.
Once it has matured, crush it,
Let the juices run through your coarse hands,
Watch it drip to the ground,
Creating puddles.
Then, gaze upon the spilt liquid,
And there you will see your reflection.
Smile, for you are solid and intact.
Then walk away and say,
"Fuck it."