Like perfect knives, or “ultimate” ladders.
You could probably make a pretty profit,
Whether or not I get my money’s worth.
Give me a number I can call without hesitation,
Or fear of hidden charges and complications.
We’ll talk for hours on end, but I’ll still wonder,
If it’s all sales talk, and what’s the truth.
You’ll assure me that it’s worth the investment
And I’ll smile and nod, and politely agree.
It’s not a game—hasn’t been for a long time
After all, we don’t gamble with love, only money.
We’ll wait a couple of days, weeks, months
And both be amazed, marveling
At how much we’ve both changed
To the point of becoming barely recognizable.
Maybe by then, you’ll be tired of trying
To sell me the intangibles and ideals
Or it could be me on the other end,
Reassuring you that the investment is worth it.
But I’ll always be grateful,
Heart broken or thriving,
For the nights we’d spent together
And the tears you’d wiped away.
And I’ll always remember
The intricate marriage of sales talk and truth,
And how you’d managed to inexplicably
Sell me something I don’t believe in.
Originally published on Tumblr on Jun 4th 2012