Maybe two years ago I would feel the need to tell you,
"I love you."
Maybe a year ago I would have felt like you were the breath in my lungs when all of the air was knocked out of me.
Maybe a couple of months ago I realized you weren't good for me.
Maybe a couple of weeks ago when the *** burned in my stomach,
My head over a toilet,
Trying to drink away the thought of you,
I would've called to say,
"I hate you."
It was the alcohol that made me realize that it's unhealthy for me and
So
            Are
                          You.
It's burn made me dizzy after my sixth cup of chugging,
Of forgetting,
Of consuming.
I know I'm over you,
But the nightmares won't stop.

Maybe some day we will dance
Holding hands in disbelief
As tears of joy
flow from our eyes
While the field of flowers
will cheer in salute
Maybe our eternity
will come to an end
And our day will come
to begin . . . just maybe

Just maybe I hope
beyond my dreams

She holds my muse captive in a cage with bars of bamboo
I fear if I don't retrieve it I'll never be completed
Use a scapel to spill my guts on loose leaf, then I delete it
It's unworthy, it's too wordy
Got too much love for you I'd be broken if you heard it
And these days, I'm not too sure who recites it
And these days' I'm indifferent with who likes it
Somedays I don't even know the man who writes it
Scribble a wordy flurry and not understand what incites it
It all feels insightless
A pretentious attempt to be righteous
And what is righteousness?
Staring bold faced at the heart of the abyss
Saying even though it's looming I can't be defined by this
Or lose my mind to this, thinking ignorance is bliss
Enlightenment ensorcelled with the progress of humanity
Standing hand in hand with a communal prosperity
No severalty severity
Trade your famous 15 seconds for just one moment of clarity

Feminism is lying
It is not driven by equality
It is driven by dominance
And I, a humble observer of what is both beautiful and empirical
Have no argument for the contrary
Their fertile nature and ensorcelling majesty, I am but a myrmidon
To what is the zenith of divinity
that this circumscribed world permits

He loved her, but his love was forced to buzz beneath the surface, like a deep pain under an ******
The day it would be relevant seemed to drift beyond possibility, but he hoped for it
And some days he awoke to it,
bleeding
A ghastly wound, once healed then torn open,
dreaming