i think people die because they're all used up. whether they're 18 or 80, something inside them has run out of fuel. something inside them wants to be loved, or idolized, or immortalized or whatever they're after and they've run out of whatever makes it happen. so they die or they **** themselves and they fulfill their greatest desire; to be lost, to be mourned, and to escape the void they've been digging themselves out of their entire lives. six feet under.

i think my heart
grew strings
trying to forget you.

i could write so many ******* poems
about your stupid,
******* face.

That’s the complication of staying up at these early hours of the morning.
These early hours are when your mind is most naked, when your heart is bare, and your body numb. You hear the rain pouring down, and you look outside your window, and stare at the droplets falling, you think about what It must feel like to drown in the inescapable water, it quenches your thirst yes, but at some point you would have enough of the water coming down on you. There’s a point where the water fills your intestines, it soaks every part of you until your practically drowning. But then the rain starts to fade, and all you hear are the drops falling from the roof onto the cement. You watch slowly in those milliseconds from the time the drop falls to the cement, and the cement consuming the drop, until it’s practically non - existent. And in a short amount time, the whole sound of rain becomes non - existent to a point where you forget that it rained, and the only evidence left is the dark, grey sky above, that within time will fade as well.

m.d.

i tried to write an open letter to your new girlfriend. i sat for hours, writing draft after draft, typing over backspace after backspace, all in vain. i realized at the end of it, i had no words for her. i had no wistful compliments, or tips dipped in nostalgia, or even warnings -- i realized none of those are mine to give. i remembered that there have been at least a dozen girls between me and her; you are no longer mine to giveaway. i am no longer the ex. i was never really the ex, but i am no longer the anything. i'm a girl you used to know. years ago. a girl you'll come across in the yearbook, decades from now, and blink -- was that really her name? you'll swear to yourself that it was more beautiful, back when you moaned it in my ear. you'll show me to your kids, or even your wife, laughing and saying there's my high school . . . you'll pause and stick-in the word 'girlfriend' because it's the closest thing that fits, but we both know better. i was never your girlfriend, i was just your ******* girl.

there is no fondness to this story. there is nothing for you to tell your kids, unless you're ready to ******* jade them; there's the girl who starved for me in year nine, there's the girl who didn't say she loved me until it was over, there's the girl who couldn't function with or without me.

there's your girl. one of your girls. a notch in your belt. now that i think about it, maybe you'll just flip past me in the yearbook. and maybe, if we ever see each other again, all you'll do is blink.

.

your eyes burn like
krypton lights on  
charlie brown's
christmas tree,
painfully
aware that
they are and
only can be
fire hazards.




**(c) 2014 jude rigor

There's something
About listening
To the rain
Fall on the streets
Below
While looking
Out from the
Third story
Window
That I find
So peaceful.

As I hit my
Cigarette
The last few times
Before dying it out,
Like everything I've
Ever dreamt about,
I stop to wonder
Where my life
May go.
I could live to see the
Age of twenty-five,
But I guess time
Only knows.