If cursing you
or crying rivers
or breaking pens and
pencils
or marring the sculpture
I had so lovingly made
of your face
or taking pills
or cutting skin
or drinking blood
or pinning eyes
or pinching shoulders
or pulling hair
or lashing legs
or inflicting pain
however
could erase the pain,

I would.

Naked and broken, half dead on the ground,
Screams pouring out but I can't hear a sound.
You held my heart and then ripped it in two,
I'm shackled and bound, still bleeding for you.

One day I'm going to be old and droopy
And your ears are going to be huge and hairy
My cheeks are going to sag and so are my arms
And you won't be able to move like you used to

One day I'm going to be grey and naggy
And your hearing aids won't work and you'll complain
My eyes will steadily stop seeing as well
And you'll never remember what day it is

One day I'm going to be confused and deaf
And you're going to be elderly with dementia
I won't be able to walk, but I'll crawl to you anyways
You won't be able to speak, but you'll love me the same

One day we're going to be nostalgic and cranky
And we won't understand our grandchildren's technology
We won't understand why these kids listen to such garbage
And we'll be forever together, in love with each other

We crossed paths
I crossed a line
You crossed me off your list   
                                                      f
                                                  f
          ­                                    o
  
     W                                e
          e                   ­      m
        
               c               d
                  r         e
                    o   s
I     c    r    o   s    s   e   d     a     l   i   n  e
                   o   s
                r         e
             c             d
    
      u                       p
   o                            a
Y                                 t
                                     h
                                       s

We need no one's approval.
We are poets, not pleaders.

In the spirit of the season
Cut your sleeves and come take
a walk with me
Down Victory Avenue and Sunshine Street.
Where a lung collapsed next to an old radio
We blame it on the snake
But it was really the toad
It's frying your fins
UV Rays and telescopes
We keep finding probes in holes that weren't there before
Is this what it feels like to waste away under an umbrella?

Today I woke up and looked in the mirror
"Oh great. It's you again."
I spoke soft  and took
what I broke off and shook
It is clearer.
Staring straight back today fate has no cloak of black smoke
Nearer. Nearer.
There, unprovoked  I attack too late
Stuck in a quiver
Where i choke on the joke gone off line i am hooked
Ruminate on
Doom we wait on
Ward of the  room
Bored, you ignored her bloom
As you scored what consume
Deprivation
Despised spiteful every insightful revelation
Perceiving as her leaving you confirmation