I wish I could write
something brilliant.
The pick-up line
to end all.

A perfect one-liner
utterly unique and so
refreshing, it sinks
into your
skull.

I wish I could say
something beautiful
to make you fall
in lust.

A euphemism or
anecdote to light the fire
that will burn
history.

I can write us out
of the ashes,
x's and o's
in cursive.

I can write around
your reluctance
to let anything good
happen.

I will write you into
a love letter, fold it like
a paper airplane
and throw it.

If you ever read it,
scribbled in the folds it says,
"I love you." Only one
of the many
phrases
that I did
not use
enough.

I have a two
track mind.
The first is for
disjointed
****** fantasies.
The fast kind that soak
the bed sheets.
Flirting with felony,
twice the speed limit,
flying downhill,
picking up
inappropriate
speed.

The other track
sends neural
suicide notes
from the attic of my brain
to the basement
of my heart, slowly,
in a school zone,
with the emergency
brake on, grinding
cold metal
on the pavement,
causing sparks.

I enjoy the first,
fleeting thought of you, your
cracked lips that I
can fix. This love
is gone, I was given only
a glimpse.

Suicide lulls
and moves too slow, and waits
at cross streets, out of gas
empty but moving
just fast enough
for me to remember
it exists.

The moment I spoke
your name
for the last time,
you felt it.

You had to throw
the net again into the sea,
to trap me
in my pathetic
admiration of you.

You felt it when
I forgot you existed.
You had to weasel your way
back in to
my heart.

But the space reserved for you
has grown
so small.

How many years
do you plan
on pulling me along?

Dragging me behind your
reckless automobile, my face raw
from rubbing the asphalt. Skin chaffed from
repeated abuse. You are
the madman behind
the wheel.

I forgot about you
until you reminded me that
I'm simply not me
unless I feel
discarded, abandoned,
unloved by you.

Everyone's past is a tragedy.
Everyone's heart has
been broken.
That means
thousands of
reasons to feel
sorry for
yourself.

Hundreds of different
shades of pain, an
endless rainbow of
exes and
depressing
stories.

Relationships pile up,
as rotten and overwhelming
as a garbage dump.
I need to reduce
my interpersonal
carbon footprint.

There are too many
bones in the graveyard
of my heart. I am
almost out of
room, I will have
to start
cremating
soon.

I want to forget them all,
every failed attempt
at love.
Can you
wipe my slate clean?
Can your kiss
outweigh
a decade
of defeat?

Looking for it.
Where is it?
What is it?
Why can't I have it?

Chasing after it.
Shambling after it.
I want it.
I need it.
Why do I want it?

Do you have it?
Will you share it?

You took it from me.
You stole it.
You ******* stole it.
Give it back.
It's mine.

You can't have it.
I can almost reach it.
I can see it, and
I'm done asking.
I'm going to
take it.

I lunge for it.
I grasp for it.
I claw and scratch and
**** for it.

Nothing matters
anymore. It is me.
I'm talking to myself
again.

Anywhere but here.
A wild, yea-saying
over-burst
of American
joy.

West or East or
to a coast.
To dark cement alley
ways crammed in
the back pockets of
the states.

To fluorescent city sky
profiles and bright
yellow-brick-road
side streets.

Let's race our dreams
and see who
crosses the finish
line first.

Let's drown this old
place, trade it for a new
space, one with
better people
and a longer
summer.

Forget the people
you ran from. Focus
on the hopeful,
mysterious
figures looming
in the future.

**** my love
problems
and ****
yours. Let's
go.

Let's ride a
train out west
and jump off at
the last second--
before it crashes
in a fiery dark blue
Pacific ocean
explosion.

I haven't texted you
in a day.
Wow. Praise
God.
Time to
celebrate.

The witch is dead
her needy grip
loosens from
your pursed lower
lip.

I know
I'm crazy.
You're not the
first.

Don't flatter yourself.
It could have been
worse.

I'm over it.
24 hours of
freedom.
I'm done with you
and in search of
my next victim.

He'll be tall
and dark.
Handsome, like
you.

He'll **** me
so good and have
all the right moves.

Different time
same place,
nothing is new.

I retire back to
the old red
lonely space
in my bed.

In emotional limbo
stuck in between
the amazing last moment
before you
left me.

It was quite easy.
And it was
very fast.

I didn't know
when I kissed you
it would be
our last.

I would have held you tighter
and been less bizarre
and tried to be balanced
and perfect,
less
raw.

My desire to say
something beautiful
just made it
worse.

I dug our grave
with my steel-shovel
words.