The only perfect thing in this world
Is its constant imperfections

I can't have it
and you can't have it
and we won't
get it

so don't bet on it
or even think about
it

just get out of bed
each morning

wash
shave
clothe
yourself
and go out into
it

because
outside of that
all that's left is
suicide and
madness

so you just
can't
expect too much

you can't even
expect

so what you do
is
work from a modest
minimal
base

like when you
walk outside
be glad your car
might possibly
be there

and if it is-
that the tires
aren't
flat

then you get
in
and if it
starts--you
start.

and
it's the damndest
movie
you've ever
seen
because
you're
in it--

low budget
and
4 billion
critics

and the longest
run
you ever hope
for
is

one
day.

whenever you feel
inconsequentially small
remember one thing:
the period.

a dark pixel
a tiny nuanced dot
that manages to
transform everything.

"I'm fine"
becomes "I'm fine."
"Okay"
becomes "Okay."

but perhaps the most painful
of all is to see
"goodbye"
change into "goodbye."

My poetry has found a way to **** itself

I know that I'm running through your veins and causing your heart to race, but its no longer an euphoric sense of excitement. my venom has been stored up in your mind waiting for its release through memories. you sit there and think of me, unaware that you're no longer immune to it, and so it begins to burn through your bloodline and make its way to your beautiful heart, where it will slowly turn it black and cold, an action only reversible by a love that isn't mine