Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2015
Out-of-that same hole, you built the bridge that brought you into my apartment, and closer, enough, to laugh, at my-joke. Enough to make you comfortable, once. And well-built-bridges survive torrential burns. 
[Good pitching usually bests good hitting, bad defense is hard to play-beyond, but, for some reason, sonny keeps-on. Practicing that shot, past-the-arc, [page 8] feet-so-far from the floor.]
I bet on another-blaze, from that boy. Bet his broker--- down at the "bridge-insurance-agency"--- bet, that he bets, too. One big tragedy and The Bad Boy-Blonde bought himself a little capital-l Legitimacy. Or at least a capital 
M-mulligan, ~~~~ _~~. "******, man, can't make another mistake?"

I mumble, again, to myself. But this time, I'm not complicit. I won't be the lubricant, whilst he wears-down his looks, or when he can't use his **** every day, or when he runs out, again--- back, with mean things to say. And now he's ******* disappeared, and you're back on my couch, and we both complain. And you read a poem, and I write a love letter. And---

That part there, that ain't-even projection! Another delusion, maybe. Again. Am I trapped, in [page 9] typing out words that later, I'll trick myself into believing? Or? Truly? I'm more sum, than total, when you tag-along. I'm totally, and tragically, head-over-heels. You'll hear this, here, and have a hard time listening--- "no, listen, I understand all that, and have a position on your counter-punches."

I couldn't, possibly, corrupt my own kingdom by exiling you entirely. Because, yeah, you're so beautiful, but you're also my-best bud. You, fit-flawless, and fearless, and effortlessly, into the hole, left by the jigsaw-piece, lost-years ago. My friends, and ******-when, had it, penultimately, "pieces-no-more," way-back then. 

Yet you're sure you weren't there. "You're sure? You weren't there?" You can be sure, I [page 10] believe you. I'm not under the impression that this is the long-con. I know, I'm a little-less-adorable, when I yawn. Or I cough, or I cry. And if I fawn, all-over you, still, after, I admit. I've really been trying to get-over-this, for a bit. (you could, honestly, be the best-friend that I've never-had-yet.)

And, you could, plainly break-my-heart, again. Apathetic over my annoying requests, for you to, "read my ****!" For it to be this, and you, getting-so-mad. For Adderall-sale to become the staple of our "extra-workular-relationship." For us to lose all contact, like my personalities, currently. For losing the ability to over-explain HBO programs to "This-girl-from-seven-nine-three." For you, this might be easy!

No, sir! Miss, I mean! No, you! I won't let it happen, if you say you won't, too. Put this down, make no mention, if it's made you upset. I've [page 11] already trusted you, once, to forget. And, he did, as well, so we're on the same page. Writing about him: lettered-love, turned toward rage (never, in-your-direction). I'm sure, at one-point, I had promised: no-more interventions. Lashing out was true, but convolutes my intentions. True, also, is the certainty of this-thing, I claim. The third-dream, "with ~~~-~~~~ ~~~," ~~~~~~-~~~~, yeah. You're the name.
I censor the sensitive bits, solely, sorry though.
Sean Flaherty
Written by
Sean Flaherty  Massachusetts
(Massachusetts)   
1.0k
     Sean Flaherty and Earl Jane
Please log in to view and add comments on poems