If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

she lays limp upon the sea
foam mattress
gasping for air amongst the swarm
of tubes entangling around her body

i am across from her
a handful of popcorn held
together by a rubber band

is it within my own selfish desire
to keep my love afloat?
or shall i submerge
her gently into the ocean
of infinite nothingness
?

i open a poetry book
to softly narrate
her last words to her.

do not go gentle into that
good night.
old age should burn
and rave at close of day.

and as she slips away

rage. rage against the dying
of the light.

she tremors.

Why did you leave?
                 Is It my fault?
You cheated on her.
                 Why did you do that?
You made me...
                   I was a consequence of a hook up...
You said that i was your little princess.
                   Why did you lie to a child?
You gave me false hope.
                    Did you really want to see me?
You found about me.
                      You finally told her you were married...
You knew I was yours.
                        Yet you lied to my brother and sisters.
You were there till my fifth birthday.
                          You never showed up...
I cried and mom protected you.
                           You were at the bar with another girl.
You had a wife.
                           Mom was a hook up, I thing to you.
You are just a player.
                           I know now...