but
     I
      want
               to
                 sin
                     on
                         every
                                  inch
                                        of
                                           your
                                                 body.

An unexceptional relationship
Is one with few words,
Where few thoughts converge
Nothing is given or taken or got
Not much was sold, stolen or bought
Some few true smiles, But zero harsh words
What can you say when not much is said
The texts that we sent meant little when read
The heights weren't too high and the lows were too low
To make up for the way that it goes
So I think that I'll leave
And I think that you know
It's ourselves we deceive
With this sham of a show
And I truly believe
We're better off on our own

So, Good bye,
And have a beautiful life.
I hope things go well
My new never wife

At times, your flotsom and jetsom gets to me.
Mostly, I think you're beautiful.

At times, I look at you and want to ask,
"Why are you in a frantic, frothing frenzy?"

At times, I exclaim, "Really? Come on! I mean, come on! How bad is it, really?"...

At times, you storm away.

At times, I wonder if you are worth the aggrivation.

At times, I don't think I deserve you.

Text her. Send her messages that she won't know how to respond to. she'll read them and put her phone down. Stare at the read receipt for hours until you realize she's not picking the phone back up, she doesn't have anything to say to you.

Eat lots of chocolate. It has serotonin in it, the happy chemical. When you cuddle with her, your brain releases oxytocin. As long as you eat enough chocolate (and throw it up) you won't miss the oxytocin one bit.

Bleed. When she tells you that she cuts herself, cut deeper. This is guerrilla warfare now, and for every shot fired you must fire back.

Read your messages. Laugh at the nicknames she used. "Princess". "Baby". "Darlin". You were never her princess, never her baby. She was the child and you were merely her plaything.

Make art. Write dumb poetry about falling in and out of love, take photographs of your ****** thighs, paint a picture using only shades of red. Let her figure out what all these things mean.

Drink. Green tea, *****, over-priced lattes. Stay up all night crying. Wear stilettos. Sit in art museums all alone and wonder if being a starving artist is as much fun as it sounds. Take long showers and harmonize with your favorite songs through your tears. Use heavier, blacker eyeliner. Spend time on yourself. Adopt a cat. But most of all, remember this:

You can only love one person. Choose yourself

Your marriage crisis has been affecting my poems,
i get you commenting
with some sense of hatred.
I wouldnt feel so uncomfortable
if i knew you,
and if i had anything to do with
your marriage.

This little girl has become so vulnerable,
posting every poem with a little
prayer,
that you dont wreck it
and make it one of your rough drafts.

Dear Mrs JC
i would rather appreciate you
staying away from my poems.
And not getting any like
or comment at all,
than having your name written all over them.