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there is no joy in removing this,
no pleasure forgetting you.
pretending to forget,
to make the days easier,
the nights shorter.
I miss telling you "I love you"
those words now deadened
in my throat.
I hate these terms of undoing,
when you are all I remember
and the world is cold
and sterile.
those gnashing smiles of carefree pasts
reminding me
to be grateful
because all you lost is a woman
plenty more fish
better to have loved and lost
time heals all wounds
it wasn't meant to be
ILLCUTOUTYOURTONGUE
she was not that.
she was starlight in the chaos
meaning and reason
the voice I loved
a reason
where there was none.
I'll have a cheeseburger.
Hold the cheese.

Hold it in your hand until it melts---
until it bears the shape of that voluptuous palm of yours.

Then put it on my burger.
Life is an open book.
           Time is an oscillating fan.

I've had to learn to skim-read because
           before I can read more than a few paragraphs,
that ******* airhead comes circling back,
           blowing pages like a medieval *******.

The cool air feels nice, though.
      Sometimes, when my head aches,
I let my eyes relax
       and I enjoy the breeze as the words blur.
I love you just the way you are,
but you don't see you like I do.
You shouldn't try so hard to be perfect.
Trust me, perfect should try to be you.
I miss you.
Again.
I miss how you used to send me
those stupid gifs,
to distract me
from life.

I want you.
Again.
I want you back by my side
talking, laughing,
making me feel
whole at last.

I need you.
Again.
I need you, but this time
you’re not here,
and it hurts more
than ever before.

I miss you.
Again.
I miss you every morning,
and every night;
at every silence,
I break apart.

Again.
I want to beat you to death with a blunt object.

I want to grab one of those high-end fashion mannequins by the ankles and bash your ribcage in.

I want to sharpen fifty pencils, bind them with a rubber band, stick the lead ends in your mouth, and punch the erasers.

I want to strap you to a bed of nails and then strap that bed of nails to the hood of my car so I can watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps in a mall parking lot during an earthquake.

I want to burn your dog in front of you, mix his ashes with gunpowder, melt his bone-shaped name tag into a small metal ball, load it all into a musket, and shoot you in the face with him.

I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash and then somehow not survive a small fender ****** on the way back from the hospital.
Us
I'll love you until I'm dead on the outside.
I'll give you every one of my mortal seconds.
I'll never leave your side.
I'll die holding your hand.
But after that, I want some "me time."
Cremate me, please
and sprinkle my ashes,

                    pinch by pinch
.                               on strippers' eyelashes.
You think I'm crazy?
HA! That's real funny.

If I were crazy, would I have written a twelve-hundred-page novel without using a single vowel?
No. 'Cause I did. And I'm not crazy.

If I were crazy, would I be able to predict the future by dropping empty tuna cans into an open drain in my backyard?
No. 'Cause I can. And I'm not crazy.

If I were crazy, would I love to slit your ******* throat just to watch the color drain from from your face and onto that cleanly pressed collared shirt of yours?
Yes. I would love that if I were crazy.

But I'm not crazy.
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