i'm pretty sure it's a crime
to have you skinny dipping inside the pools of my mind

the words spilled from her mouth

here i sit,
as my best friend,
tells me
you have another.

i shouldn’t care.
but i do.

no matter how hard i try,
the poetry for you in which i write,
never ceases.
it just keeps pouring out of my soul.
it sometimes seems as if,
the poetry i write for you is what keeps my heart beating.
what keeps me breathing.

but now, what am i supposed to do?
her?
seriously?
do you think she will love you?
do you really think she will love you?
please tell me.

it’s hard to think of you with another
because we used to be so in love with each other.

it’s been a long time since we last spoke,
but it feels as if all the memories of us i have were just made yesterday.

you have another.
who will never,
ever,
love you in the way i could.

but my question for you is,
will you love her in the way you could towards me?

Every time I get comfortable
Without you
You show up again.

Every time I get used to sleeping
By myself
You crawl into my bed.

Every time I fall in love
With you,
You leave me again.

Tell yourself to breathe
as the stratosphere is falling,
imagining verses tumbling
midst downpours' dissension,
sans sentimentality's
         loquacious language,
and the land is left barren
    as verbosity disintegrates
and emotions wholly perish
    'neath fickle cloudbursts
               of poetry's extinction