There is an art applied to your torture.
And you do this quite well.
In fact,
Without trying at all...
You manage to drive me right up a wall,
With your flagrant inconsistencies.
One moment you are focused.
And I am positive you will follow through.
And as soon as I am convinced of it...
You are on to something different.
Claiming you can not commit...
Because of a change of mood.
And if I should change my mind,
About something I said I was to do.
I would never hear the end of it from you.
Until that dead horse would get up and gallop away.
And for weeks to me you would have nothing to say.
Peaceful weeks...
I might add,
That leave me feeling my happiest and a sense of being glad!
There is an art applied to your torture.
And you do this quite well.
In fact,
Without trying at all...
You manage to drive me right up a wall,
With your flagrant inconsistencies.
And you expect me to comprehend them.
Well I don't!
I end up getting mad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem