The most awkward five minutes of my life.

Poetry,
like ***,
momentarily
destroys
the misery
of the world.
  ~mce

I guess it's over.
Water has spilled all over our ink
and now our words are blurry.
Unreadable.
Unfixable.

But what do you care?
You were the one who tipped
the glass over.

He only fell for her
in full bloom blossom,
Now the flowers fell from
the top down unto the bottom
And he's forgotten,
what she looks like in fall.
He didn't love her in autumn
and she was awesome
all year round.