I AM TIRED OF FEELING SO DRY I WOULD RATHER HURT WITH ALL OF THE OCEANS WAVES DROWNING ME
I
HAVE
NOTHING
              LEFT
                     TO
                         BREATHE
WHERE ARE YOU

when you think of...
long night drives
curly brown hair
handwritten notes
hole in ones
boat rides
and beach days under the sun
when you think of love
I hope you think of me.

where does love go?
when that deep immense feeling of belonging
dissipates like a mist in an ocean breeze.
does it gently fade away, as it evaporates in the sky?
is it remembered?
does it still exist?

I used to view existential
as a meaningless concept
rendered complex when used
in sentences by the pretentious
until I came to realize that it’s
simply nothing but the shadow
of a black dog sitting on a dock
by an old man holding a rusty
old revolver to his head on dark
nights of deep water thinking
man, what a waste of a good
bullet if you pull it, so throw it
in and let me fetch it once again
just like the last time, and the time
before that, or like every time you
have a notion that the ocean is blue
only for you and your sorrow, dude
let it go and let’s go home before
tomorrow comes, for your shadow
is aware and cares for your existence.