I find myself watching
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Over and over and over again.

I've seen this movie over 200 times.
I watched it seven times in one day
Over and over and over again...

The equivalent of
more than fourteen hours;
more than half of a day wasted
pretending I could erase him too.
I just couldn't stop.

The fantasy was too enthralling...
I wished I had Alzheimer's,
since the procedure doesn't exist,
but if I did, he would have been
the only thing
I could remember.

That was three years ago.
And honestly,
I'm not sure why
I've watched it
three times this week.

I think I'm preparing myself
for the moment
when what seems
too good to be true
finally is.

And maybe when this moment strikes me
like a bolt of lightning,
I won't feel the need to watch it
as many times as before.

Then again,
I've heard lightning never strikes
the same place twice.

I hope for the best
and prepare for the worst.


...Ironically enough,
I hope that I forget
I felt this way
tomorrow.

When he speaks,
sometimes I hold my breath
like I hold his hands.

Drowning above water,
caught in the riptide of
Lust and Language,
seems like such a foreign concept.

At least it was before I met him.

I can feel my heart
as it palpitates
and the arteries
that throb just
below my skull...

They silently beg me to
let go of what his words
do - the pressure they place
on my lungs.

Winded like prey
who has just flown
from the ravenous predator.

I feel torn apart
more often than saved.

And right now, I ******* hate metaphors.

Who knew it was possible
to anticipate
that the way you may die
would actually be
the only way you ever lived?

Always caught up in
someone else's words.

New memories develop
At such a rapid pace
That I can't seem
To differentiate
The time they were given
And the time I fully received them.

Maybe time is relative...
All I know is
That it's relevant
When it passes by too quickly
That you forget to stop and smell the flowers
Which died long ago
But you can't seem to throw out

Because when you do,
You throw away another
Memory
Like the ones you promised
Long ago
That you never would.

I did this for you
And not the universal
YOU

...But him.

I thought that
Things would get better
If I followed his advice
And replaced the old
With new.

Yet now that it's over
I feel like
I am missing
The most important parts
Of me.

I want to blame him
But that is ignorant.
I'm the one who chose
Submission
Over stance

All for a lover
Who I could not fulfill
And who knows
That it goes both ways.

This time
I don't want him back
But I wish,
More than anything,
That I could have myself back
Because I gave too many pieces
Of my self
In order to please someone
That I knew I ever could.

Step One:
Meet someone.
Step Two:
Become friends.
Step Three:
Spend too much time with them.

Step Four:
Realize that you have gotten along better with them than anyone else you know.
Step Five:
Tell yourself that they're the one for you.
Step Six:
Tell them that they're the one for you.
Step Seven:
Date.
Step Eight:
Fall in love.

Take a deep breath.
This is where it gets tricky.

STEP NINE:
Stay together for awhile...
STEP TEN:
AND AWHILE LONGER
STEP ELEVEN
AND WHILE LONGER
STEP TWELVE
AND AWHILE LONGER
AND AWHILE LONGER
AND AWHILE LONGER
AND AWHILE LONGER

STEP THIRTEEN:
SHORTEN CONVERSATIONS
STEP FOURTEEN:
AWKWARD SILENCE
STEP FIFTEEN:
THEY STOP CALLING
STEP SIXTEEN:
THEY STOP TEXTING

STEP SEVENTEEN:
THEY SAY THEY FEEL DIFFERENTLY
STEP EIGHTEEN:
THEY SAY THEY MET SOMEONE ELSE
STEP NINETEEN:
THEY SAY THEY STILL WANT TO BE FRIENDS
STEP TWENTY:
THEY BLOCK YOU ONLINE
STEP TWENTY-ONE:
THEY BLOCK YOUR CELLPHONE NUMBER
STEP TWENTY-TWO:
YOU CRY
and you cry
and cry
and cry
and cry and cry and cry...

Step Twenty-Three:*
...you fall
and hit rock bottom.

There you have it, ladies in gentlemen:
******* yourself without *actually dying?
...Love someone who doesn't love you back.

Really?

My overwhelming Solemnity
is represented-
by brown fields
in Spring-time withering.

Nostalgia riddles me
with, and throughout,
my Life.

It is a Sweet candy;
Sour- like the taste of my gums,
as I reflect on my Experience
as a Living, Breathing,
flesh-Encumbered Soul.

"These are the pale, empty vessels of our spirit,"
says One, about our bodies.

"'Tis the final embrace from the Mother to Son,"
says One, in regards to Death.

"This is the end of a Turn,
of the Wheel just Begun,"
says one,
pondering the endless Circles
of Our existence.

But find,
in one Moment,
peace.
But see,
in one Moment,
the sun that revels on Our faces;
that dances like flames, upon Our eyes.

Don't weep because the moon crests;
because the tides rise;
because the the vivid flowers of Our mind have begun their soft decay.

Instead,
remember that Our dying bodies exist;
that peace can be found;
that the moon is merely a Shadow of the sun's brilliance;

that We,
as all Hope foretells,
as the Flowers of one age,
tread paths for the dying New;
for unborn eyes;

for the Shadows of Our acceptance.

My transient echo
Seething with energy some
Or none or any at all
Except the one
Quanta that renders
Me real and
Not.

An echo of slants
A frozen stretch
Humming terra ensconces - you
Forlorn
Ever-crooked
A never-stagnant aeriform environ
Tugging and vibrating through root
Hairs furling densely about and
Through
Dirt clods

My arms are empty,
They hold no more,
My hands are aching,
They're cold and sore,
My voice is gone,
It can no longer echo,
And yet, I am happy,
When I do dare seek a glance,
You dare to seek one back,
Locking eyes for only a minute,
No one will suspect,
In my arms I hold books,
They openly mock you,
In my hands I clench fists,
Which, to friends look of discomfort,
And yet, I am happy,
Our lips in unison purse,
They stubbornly hold the wall of silence between us,
But our eyes go against them,
Venturing to speak subtly,
Our hands forever clenched in a blistery white,
Our bodies tense questioning a fight,
And yet, we are happy,
After all, together we are antiques,
Cold, desperate and remembering,
Everything we've said to each other,
How openly we trusted the other with our frailty,
Trust did not protect us,
Every morning we shine the chips on our shoulders,
So the other can plainly see,
What we feel in secret,
The pain inflicted in our brittle skin,
Our eyes scream different,
Insisting to forgive and be forgiven,
And yet, we are happy,