you're beautiful, delicious,
like a piece of freshly prepared bacon
on a cold rainy morning,
and your toothy smile
reminds me of the white eggs
dad would cook as a side dish,
and it was perfect, and i'd smile too,
but most of all you're like bacon
in that though your crisp
is highly appetizing, if eaten
in large amounts i would end up
mounted on a coroner's table
written out as a violent heart attack
after the autopsy finished,
so i'll take you in small quantities
instead of having my love for you **** me.

you and me,
let's make sure
to drive far
and so fast
and when we
reach that line
at the end
the engine
will smoke, burn
and we will
stare at each
other and
shout "Wow what
a crazy
ride we had!"

drive like a
maniac and
just enjoy
that long road,
don't miss a
chance to speed
up on what
waits ahead.

some nights there's this overwhelming feeling
of wanting to climb to the roof of a house looking over a city
and getting drunk and screaming The Smiths songs so loudly
that the windows threaten to shatter
and last night was one of those nights,
all i wanted was you there by my side
yelling at the top of your lungs the lyrics to all those songs
we memorized by heart when we were 15
while going through that phase
because i know you are hurting and i'm hurting too
and such a thing, well, such a thing would be a privilege,
and i'm so very sure that we'd be the happiest people
on the planet after it! we'd pass out in our room,
those moments however long or short they may be,
would last, would feel like eternity,
and an eternity of joy is all we strive for.

while i do love
the taste of unhealthy
t.v. dinners for every meal
and i do enjoy
the slobbery salisbury steaks,
extra salty ramen noodles
and those little tuna cans,
it's great to come home
after a long emotional
roller coaster week
and have abuela cook up
some arroz con garbanzos
and unas buenas chuletas,
get the latest family gossip,
comments on how
el gobernador is being
the biggest pendejo
in power at the moment,
watch the news,
see how many were killed this week,
and just shake our heads
as the island crumbles into Detroit like
madness (at least we've got great beaches),
ah but yes,
abuela's cooking,
what i need to forget
the girl with the pretty hair.

for not writing anything humorous in a while.
it's been a tough week but i'm now ready to pretend
that i'm actually funny and write some lines that are
not completely lame pieces about heartbreak. i ain't
over it yet but i soon will be. **** happens and
people leave  but there are few choices: i gotta deal.

**[writing about my night time conversations with plush
Jack Skellington a few moons ago intensifies]