When I'm done with you, you'll need an undertaker.
Because of what you did, you will meet your maker.
You had an affair with my daughter but neglected to tell her that you have a wife and kids.
I found a suicide note next to her body, she decided to end it all because of what you did.
When my daughter learned about your wife, she begged you to get a divorce.
You said it would never happen and now she's dead, and you don't even feel remorse.
When I found my daughter, I held her lifeless body in my arms as tears rolled down my face.
I'm going to have to **** you because you are a scumbag, a low life and a total disgrace.
You're laughing because you think that I'm bluffing, but I just put a bullet in your head.
I pulled the trigger and now as I look at your corpse, I feel jubilation because you're dead.
When you used my daughter, you signed your death warrant as well.
I hate your stinking guts and I really do hope that you will fry in Hell.

Fall to me, all you streets of Rome,
With your embrowned oils from torched walls and breccia of shadows,
The pizzicato of stairways and afternoon slowly closed
Like the thick, leathery-echo from this book of all roads.

Fallen, smoldering empire of storefronts and back-shop heirlooms,
Your lupine hills unbound with milk of cur in the wind and woods,
To your fallow fields rowed deep by a conquest of oars,
To the deepest silence and soot-muted oneness of Pompeii,
And a sky that is an ancient coin, without worth,
But still rubbed smooth at the edges by overfond lovers.

I want to write about what hurts because I think it will
Stop me from hurting. If I put these words on
A page then they will be easier to digest.
Poetry isn't curative by creation, it is
Just confession. Still, these remedial
Lines are what I turn to when I am holding
Too much in my hands. Right now, I feel
Like I am overflowing onto the ground below me.
For the first time,
I don't want to write about what hurts. I want
To keep it inside of me and let it burn me. I want
To carry it in my palms for as long as I can.
I should write
About how we've said goodbye so
Many times that it turned into a threat, a weapon
We made with our tongues.
I should write
About how I lied and got away with it,
How you got caught with
Your hands tied and no one to blame.
I should write
About how it was over before we waved the white
Flag, and I know what it means now
To hold onto a sinking ship.
I've never had anything to die for.
I should write about how I've never wanted
Something so much that I devastated it completely.
We loved in harsh conditions, under sun and darkness and
I don't know how to write about how
The love didn't save us.
I don't write about letting go as much as I write about
Holding on, and I want
That to change.
I don't want to write hurt just to feel it.
The next poem I write about you will be
About me. About how I held on and how I let go.
It won't be about your love, it will be about
Mine. It won't stop me from hurting, but
It is how I make it out
Of my love alive.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

This is how the teens, now adults,
Cope with their newfound independence,
Overwhelmed by the world and
Drunk on their freedom,
Here, where minds are warped
And time is replaced by the
Spinning of your head as
Our souls are pulled together in
Meaningless,
Powerful ways,
Only daring to fall into
The comfort of one another
As poison courses through our veins,
Setting our minds safely adrift
In the static.

Under the cheap, yellowed lights of
Barren apartments and temporary IKEA dorms,
Our limbs turn boneless
As we submit to the gravity,
Unable to stand,
Crashing together on torn up couches
Threatening to collapse,
Reveling in the warmth of each other as
Rambunctious laughter bubbles forth,
Unbidden, from tired throats as
We try in vain to keep the night at bay,
Seeking peace beyond reality.

Settled for this setting
but wanted more
all I got
was war war war

The "righteous" stoning
breaking every bone
all their poison
sown and grown and I groan

This building  was to be holy
but this place is lonely
cold
wholly unholy

Am I at any point better
to call the church a fetter?
silent judgments
& this severed letter

.
The moon undresses you, little bird,
Your eyes are indigo skies without stars,
Your breath is summer grass after shower.
How you hold your arms before the night,
A lance of milky sheen and flailing bliss,
Your arms arrest as they softly surrender
And your ******* overflow in moist shores
Of white sand and shells, little ears to kiss,
I am drowning in your curves on the waves
From the sea, delirious with eye of moon,
Drunk with wild ocean as it consumes me,
Your hair is new grassland to run through,
Windy as a child breaking for the beach,
I latch my fingers to yours like driftwood
Tangled in kelp, the salt we share, steeps,
Is **** and deep and our lips are shucked
Oysters, blind, iridescent, sliding with eyes
Into the famished throat of ***** heavens.
.