My Face

The moment always lasts long enough to hurt. Your head starts to beat, you heart starts to ache, and your undeniable desire to love loses the battle to boredom.
I turn my face.

I am well aware of my distinct, loathsome, and untamed disorder.  It has almost become a trait. The one and only characteristic you won't find in someone else. I am special. I shut the door, I walk away, I waste your time, and  I do as I can to get unfeignedly wasted on mine.
I turn my face.

The moment has  to last short enough to forget. Your head will start to wonder, your heart will start to rest, and your undeniable desire to love, luckily, will turn frigid.
I wipe my face.