i don't do poetry
yet here i am writing prose
thinking of summer woes

i do not do poetry
i find it trivial, yet
it  makes me feel

emotions do not leave me
and i only hope
text to binary
can bring me silence
from the deafening screams
of wanted dreams

because i could not love in the way i want to.

it's nice, that feeling of knowing when you know when you're going to end
Being able to know what you can and can't accomplish.
knowing who to leave behind
and who has left you
i hope to be forgotten before i go
to not be a burden on anyone
or be in the way
to just slip backstage and not require an encore

you knew it would happen
that one day, one day
he would leave because you were boring, uninteresting
all of these things you knew you were
but he denied them, just to be nice
i hate to be right but
when we were on the swings
i knew i wasn't wrong

could i tempt you with a broken society
a little dash of forgotten love
or even the old friendship that you hated
i know your poison
because you come here every night
hoping to forget
yet i serve you willingly
hoping you will return
and you will

Looking back
On all the times spent with him
Laughing, crying
So many good times together
We're still friends but so distant
I'm so distant
Because I always disappoint
I'll always bother you and I don't want to
Yet I can't help it
I'll leave and you'll get bored
Again
And again

i give up
the sunsets are not warm
the sunrise is not greeting
the moon is not full
the waves no longer crash
the life is no longer living
and the brumous future lay still
unwavering

narcissists
staring at the mirror in awe
poets
alive with words for someone who isn't there
alcoholics
drinking to forget who has left
lovers
asleep in arms
loners
who are in love
but not loved in return
the moon
solitary and staring

i look out the window to see anything else
hoping to see anything else
but i end up with nothing
nothing but my reflection
nothing but myself
a husk of someone that used to be around
is still around
unfortunately

coming to the conclusion
you're no fun to be around
is somewhat a relief
nobody has to tell you
so admitting it to yourself is nice
no need for tears
or that awkward agreement
you just know that you're right
when their slight smile wanes
and the goodbyes are much shorter

the ifs and throes
of the old summer woes
lead us astray
gave us hope
for a weak and frayed rope
yet we are left
*wandering

you, a paved road
mine, a dusty path
 overgrown
they meet
we meet
they part
we part
i follow
 lost
**without bearing