this city makes me want to write poems
on little paper napkins,
damp with rings of condensation in cafes
like I imagine all my favorite writers did
                                 Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Bukowski
                                      all scrawling their thoughts on little paper napkins,
                                      cigarette in hand,
                                     coffee (no doubt Irish) before them...

I am the thinnest slice of pizza
A warm beer
A scratched DVD
A lukewarm shower

A last resort

I'm what one settles for when all other options have been exhausted
And what is disposed of the moment something better presents itself

i never thought i'd want to cry.
i never thought i'd be begging those tears to fall, coaxing them out of my eyes
until my heart was ripped to shreds and replaced into my chest in the form of a pile of amorphous pulp.
and when the tears need
to fall the most
they won't
i strain so hard i nearly burst
i think of your face
your image plastered on my retinas
i let the "I love you"s,
the "forever"s ring in my ears
i remember all the things you did that made me smile
made me feel like the luckiest human being on earth...

but no tears fall.
no lump forms in my throat.
i am numb.
i was paralyzed the moment i stormed into your house and found her.
that night my world fell apart.
that night your mask fell away.
that night the man that I loved died and was replaced
by a monster
a savage

i believed you.
i believed everything.
i believed the "I love you"s.
i believed the sweet kisses.
i believed the tender looks and the gentle caresses.
But i do not know you anymore,
you are no longer anything to me but a vile egocentric
thing.

yet i cannot morn
no tears will fall
you've left me paralyzed
your venom courses through my veins

it's 3am and
I miss you so much
I can hardly breathe

the shirt you gave me to sleep in
still smells like you
but every day it smells a little less like you
and a little more like me
and I fear for the day the smell of you is gone completely

because you'll just feel that much further away

I am
so envious
of the cities that
get to
hold you
while I sit here
at home
with empty arms

there's something about him
that makes me want to sing and dance,
something that makes those previously dormant butterflies,
whom I has begun to worry had been so neglected up they'd withered away in my gut,
awake with such fury

I don't know why it's him
who has caused such a confused flurry inside my heart and mind--
I just met him,
yet I know he's it
he's the one,
as cliché as it may sound,
if there is a one he is it
and with him I have that thing
that rare thing
that happens upon first sight

but, oh, the fear I feel
at the though that
he may not
feel this too