The Art of Not Caring

The art of not caring
                               is a simple affair
to toss hair over shoulder,
                               not any worse for wear...
tear eyes away from those times that seemed simpler
                                and dimple time, instead, with kinder, colder whispers
           of soothing ice pops, the pinnacle of silence.
You were mine.

                    I feel cold shoulders nudging mine,
when once they asked me to lean on them,
the hem of my dress brushing knees, knocking...that kind of nervousness
                                                                         wasted in
caring.
Caress the attack of redress, these abscesses of a recessed infatuation.

I miss you. I hate you. I care...don't care.

Don't.

The art of not caring
is a simple affair
                       a hair's breath away
from staying engaged in
staying in prolonged

caring.