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Bad Nov 2014
Across,
In amongst a crossing,
My oxfords met yours.
My trench coat entrenched
Itself into yours.
We  grabbed for the same newspaper,
And I found myself peeling
Off my smile
And handing it to
You.
Bad Nov 2014
Worry will act as a carcinogen.
Fumes will spread over my body,
hitting those key points: head,
heart, mind ...
stomach.
I'll start to ***** again.
Again,
you'll be long gone.
Bad Nov 2014
IOU
I try to not frequent places where you existed.
On the days when there are parallel universes,
When Octobers are permanent,
When every night seems near fatal,
When the emptiness in our silence
mocked the leaves we trailed through,
Sundays are far off and foreign.
And as far as I know,
there is still  an
“I”
that dwells with
“You.”
Bad Nov 2014
Night,
Our night.
We were supposed to win.
We were supposed to come as a tide,
Washing over all the nonbelievers,
                                           Our molecules mixed into a cauldron with
                          anyone else who has ever fathomed
        making a difference in an indifferent world.
We were supposed to win.
We were meshed together in a way
where I bought into this.
I bought a drug for this crippling disease.
                                                 Yet, I’ve known this to be cureless.
Cureless, as my affections for you.
         Cureless, as the afflicted home we live in.
****** by society, we sat in our lonely, empty space.
I couldn’t speak a sound; you were the one who had enough air to speak.
        We were supposed to win.
         Now, not so much.
            Now, I don’t remember it meaning as much to me as I had once thought.
                  The oxygen may have been from extracted my body, but, by god,
Losing has soul.

— The End —