the first time, you took me to an abandoned mental hospital. it was definitely one of the crazier experiences i've had. we nearly got caught by the cops and i've never felt so comfortable around someone i just met. i remember when you walked me home and we talked about past lovers and the scars they left. our scars were similar. i didn't expect to fall for you as quickly as i did, but i don't think you did either.

the second time, you brought me to a train bridge. i thought you wanted to jump. you brought me under the bridge to the beams and told me it was safe to walk on them. i don't think i've ever been so scared before. but i trusted you and it went fine. so i trusted you more and more. it kept going fine. i trusted you with my heart and you obliterated it. you even warned me, and i guess that's partially my fault for not listening.

the third time, you brought me to an abandoned building. when we climbed over the fence, you assured me nothing would happen. nothing happened. you brought me into the basement and i felt fear rushing through my veins. you took out a can of spray paint, painted the date and our names and handed it to me. i couldn't think of anything so i wrote, "all things come to be loved and lost". when we left, we found ourselves walking towards an oncoming train and it took everything in both of us to move. i'm glad we did.

the fourth time, you brought me to your house and your mother greeted me with a warm smile and one of the biggest hugs i've ever received. you went into the kitchen as she hugged me and whispered into my ear, "thank you for making him happy again." and i didn't know what to say. in my opinion, you got worse when i came into your life. maybe it was just to get a reaction out of me. maybe you actually felt that way. your little sister looked me like i was an angel that just walked into a house full of sinners. i'll never forget how grateful she was to see you smile for the first time in months.

the last time, we met at the mental hospital again. after not talking for over two months, this was the first time we'd actually spent time together since that night at your mom's. you tried your hardest to make it like old times, but it didn't work. things changed and you couldn't see it. your laugh started to fade from my memory and now it plays like a broken record on repeat in my head. your words caused havoc in my mind and i'm not sure if they'll stop.

it's been 7 months since we called it off and your words left permanent scars in my head and on my arms. your friends glare at me when i walk down the halls and it sends shivers through my spine. i can't drive by your house anymore. i still have the necklace you gave me, i can't bring myself to get rid of it. it's the last piece of you i have. i wonder if you still have my baby picture. you might've burned it. but that wouldn't have been the first time you burned me.

with salt sprinkled so that she could take it-
he never asks questions-
she always unsure-
“mustard?”
“yes”- a practiced-egg-flipping ****
spurs a continuance of motion,
an un-thought,
a silent presentation-
then swallowing:
an un-thank you,
quick like horse pill one-hundred,
a you-got-it-pre-made,
articulate, deliberate, unimpeded,
like the supreme court.
They go home and sleep in the same bed-
under same blankets-
wrapped in same blackness-
you swallow- on average- eight spiders in your lifetime-
sixty-four funny feelings
under-impressing a supposed truth.

What did I pause about the other day- was it at the kitchen table? I think so- I was sitting down next to my fluorite crystal- something occurred to me- it was a pleasant thought, I remember, something a bit marvelous, I winked at my pretty little stone and she winked back. Oh! I think it was sparked from Arundhati Roy’s novel God of Small Things. Or no, I think it was the smell of spring wafting through the window that transported me to sweet grass-stained jeans at six. (How Consciousness can subvert Time! Making past present, making present eternal and infinite- undermining order imposed and idealized- tirelessly trying to give itself, but faltering before the closed fist of human conquest). Or perhaps it was the language and sensation simultaneous that lifted from within me this deep affection- for what, I do not know. For everything and nothing, I suppose. For all that is and all that be—and all that must cease to be.

it's easy to give up writing
have done it quite oftentimes
to focus on harder things
and not waste on easy rhymes!

each time i give up the pen
achieve some wonderful feat
i am that man once again
who does for others little bit!

whenever give the keys rest
close the door of poetryland
come upon a chance not to waste
to extend someone a helping hand!

times i clipped the bard's wings
landed my mind on the ground
met these eyes many things
doing which joys knew no bound!