cherry blossom boy
strawberry red hair curls wildly
blueberry eyes gleam

What do I write
when the ink has seemed to freeze.

I'll stay up until 2 -
or something like that -
trying to get
some words to drip.

These sleepless nights
leaving me with the wonder
if my veins are imprinted in your heart
as yours are in my skin.

Slips of promises
that twinkle in our eyes
seeming to be strangers.

What is running through these memories.

"Cigarettes are nasty"
smoke flows out of us
onto that slab of concrete
we called home.

Burn marks
leaving the same scar
as your touch.

And
I feel like an onion. Layer after layer all
gone with nothing to say,
nothing but skin.

They're kissing and holding hands and
I think I'm going to be sick.

and,
I've come to realize that almost every poem
carries a cigarette, and that I'm burning away.

and,
I've spent years dying to die
aching for you to return my calls.

and,
I've spent $5 a week,
replacing your breathes
and promised pain.

They're whispering and telling each other how much they are in love and
he holds her close.

and,
now all I have is the hope that this rain will wash away our memories.