Don't cry, this kiss is a kiss goodbye.
Don't cling, it's time to part.
Don't look at me nor ask me why
I've taken back my heart.

No questioning, no pleading;
No door remains ajar.
No doubt your heart is bleeding
Now, and wounds of love will scar.

Don't hope to ever turn back time,
Nor resurrect the flame
Of what became a pantomime
Of love, in all but name.

My mental capacity is reaching its max
Ideas don't develop to their full potential like they used to, leaving them in a minor state
They can't be touched by man without it considered to be molestation
My words are virgins, seeking to be sought
But this isn't the place to be a wanted thought
The world doesn't want truth, and they're nothing but innocent
Truth is inevitable but unfortunately, it's not prevalent
We prefer the ugly in the lies, and treat it like a *****
Show it the love that is only deserved to be seen by a woman that you've taken the hands of in the face of the All Mighty.
You **** it. **** it. Lick it dry.
Oh the amount of love you're willing to show, to something like a lie
"But it's right there"
That's your only excuse
Because you're way too lazy to seek the beauty of the naked truth
We're removing the sweetness from the sugar
And the melodies from the songs
All to try to belong in a world that has no problem with moving right on along
Without us
This isn't how it's supposed to be
We're supposed to feel the softness on the rugged trunks of the trees
We're supposed to sing with the wind and hum with the bees
We're supposed to write on the skies using the ink provided by our seas
But we're not.
This is how the story goes
This is how the end unfolds
With that incomplete feeling
That undeveloped thought
Cause my words are nothing but virgins…seeking to be sought.

is the illusion of love
preferable to love no longer?
even a shriveled heart
dry as a prune
grows plump with tears
for what is not there.

To escape
one's melancholic reality,

and feed
his barbaric fantasies.

Oh how I long.
The memory of that
        yes only a memory of it
strong embrace ebbs
        rolling unknown tide
at the edge of my mind.
        it's been so long so long
Had I known that it would be
my last touch
        fingers running first softly down her arm
I would have never let go,
        then hungrily faintly grasping her fingers
pulled with all my force,
        slowly slipping
leaving no doubt in
        we both finally turned away
either mind
that this
was real.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Is she in love with you
or what? Reynard said

indicating across
at the girl

at the other side
of the classroom

every time I look up
she’s peering over

here like some hawk
after prey

he added
and you guessed

she was
but didn’t say

to Reynard
who thought

all thoughts on love
were dumb

or should be left
between pages

of Shakespeare
or Keats

or maybe just
a cover word for

a fumble behind
bike sheds or woods

maybe she just likes
the way I comb my hair

you replied
looking down

at the science book
open on the desk

and by the way
he said

how much grease
you got on your hair

you look like
you fell in the **** jar?

Tooley the science teacher
looked your way

and Reynard clamped up
and began writing

in his book
and in between

scribbling words
in the exercise book

you glanced over at her
and took in her eyes

and that smile of hers
and smiled kind of

weakly back
and she mouthed

something to you
her lips making odd shapes

like some fish
out of water

and you tried to lip read
but it didn’t make sense

so you just nodded
and hoped you’d not agreed

to anything
that her scary mother

wouldn’t agree to
and then looked away

back to the science book
and life dull

and uninteresting books
full of boring questions

and Tooley at front
of the class

writing on the board
her fat *** moving

as she wrote
like some aging stripper

on her last show
and outside

the window
grey clouds

carrying
heavy snow.

I forgot you once.

I was Free.

Your brown loving eyes
became only mud.

The curves of your body
ceased to be the shadowed rolling hills
that I was once lost in.

I was Free.

I forgot you once,
but it never happened again.