It is said that insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results

Call me crazy because I will repeatedly repeat and never learn

Maybe I don't want to learn because I love the cycle of yes and no and mostly no

Even though it kills us both
We are insane because we know that it is wrong and that's the way it has to go
And yet we try, and don't try again and again
And the pen etches into the page the same stanzas

The monotony sounds like harmony
Because in our insanity we are happier and unhappier than we will ever be

I would rather die waiting for change than to be without your sweet disappointment

To relent and reclaim my sanity would be a tragedy because I would have to write new stanzas and my pen is too in love with our poetry, to welcome a new subject

For the sake of my pen (at risk of her heartbreak) I will reject the cry inside of me to run to reality

While the hurricane proves pathetic fallacy outside of our window
We breathe lunacy and embrace


Insanity

Drowning in the memories of you and I,
Oh how I wish I would’ve seen this coming.
Our downfall was bound to happen; it was inevitable.
I should have known you would be the one to steal my heart away, smash it into pieces and leave me bleeding on the bathroom floor.
I etched your name into my skin and screamed into the night,
as the blood dripping from my wrist washed all the pain away.
I drowned myself in ***** just to forget your name,
but it wasn’t enough to cure my ever aching heart.

When I am done with my poem today
You might see it.
Well, if you're reading this
then you did see it.

I'm sorry.
As the fingers strike the keys
my mind is sodden.
Vacancies available, as they say.

Anyway, cast your thoughts
to those who will not see this.
Either occasional lookers
or Hello Poetry zealots
may let these pixelated words slip by.
They won't be affected.

But you are.
Now, I'm not expecting to change your life
but maybe I've got you thinking
at this moment,
when already in the past I've finished this
and sat back silently,
wishing the dull pain
of the past's barbs in my mind
away.

You are potentially similar.
Or maybe you already switched away.
****.
I forgot again.

I got up to talk to my dad.
I took out the garbage.
Did you stop, leave in the middle of this poem?
It's okay because me too.

You have read this poem,
maybe considered it.
I am almost done.

I'm not sure how this is going to end.

I guess I'll just put out my poem now
for people to find and to not find.
But remember
that the small stuff
from insignificant sources
feels for you.

Don't worry about how I'm stubborn,
Forget that I'll argue back,
Tell me my worth,
Tell me everything I can't see.
Tell me..
Tell me..
Please...
Because I'm beginning to think it's just not there any longer.

She told him not to kiss her goodbye,
Because kissing goodbye means leaving,
Though now he glances at the photo frame,
And remembers how he never got a goodbye kiss..
He snatches the frame off the desk and looks down.
It holds a picture of her and him,
A picture with a fond stranger.