I'm sort of sick
Of hating you
But loving you is too cliche

I'm just a bit over
Ignoring you
But talking is overrated

I'm so far past
Writing you poetry
This is the exception

I'm just a bit beyond
Trying to get you
Because I'd hate to lose you

I'm not one for valuables
As valuables are stolen
And it breaks my heart

Should I ever get you
The thief would theive
The robber would rob
The hitman would hit
The assassin, assassinate
The seductress, ******

And I would lose you
As I lose everything else
So I won't have you at all

Because I'm above liking your eyes
No matter how they shine
When you laugh so brightly

I'm not one to treat you right
Though I would hold the doors
And take the bill

I'm too good to watch you
While I memorize the words
You say in your own little way

I'm to great for your problems
But if you confided in me
I'd be your greatest ally

And I'm far too good for these tears
Because I've not lied about a single thing
Not a single thing I've written here

Bruised, broken, tattered.
Stabbed, ripped, shattered.
Eroded, exploded, and left to burn:

Searching,
For a calamity that may heal
For the sincere smile
For the meek glance
For an island in the storm,

Searching,
But still lost at sea.

Yes I was too forward for sure,
I whispered, I shivered, she shivers no more.
And I knew better than to go out into the cold
To battle the warmth with a stick and some stone
Perhaps later I'll retire to my home

Blue colors drawn on windowsills between the cracks
The recesses open up and swallow me whole
A vacant shell with no home and no soul

Spiders dwindle off strings of cobwebs
that incase my now rarely used notebook.
You see, its not that my pen has run dry,
its that my mind has.

Words don't seem to flow off my tongue as easily,
as the ink would flow from a fountain pen.
No, not anymore,
and to be honest its killing me.

I still have
the note you wrote,
kissed with your raspberry lipstick,
licked with your bedtime ink.

For years, left to dry
in a drawer, inhaling the dark,
I found it, like a stale apple,
blushing yellow.

I understand the words now,
the loops, the curves, a fairground ride,
that's what we were
before the carpet scorched our knees.

Did you keep the one
that I wrote you?
No, maybe, torn at the top
and stuffed somewhere.

I let your message breathe again,
swallow the days,
this red stain rages upon my eyes,
a note with no writer, how it all fades.