I never wanted it to go this way,
though it was my actions
that catalyzed the death and
the following internment of our love.

I never meant for it to be like this.
We have our prides and our
angers and our unbearable
emotions.

My finger still won’t bend from
that parking kiosk. I was so mad.
I don’t know if I would’ve jumped but
*******, it was a toss up.

I am sorry you saw that side of me.

The demons that normally vent out
through the line breaks of the poems
as they line the walls of my computer
numbering the thousands.

You should read them
all some day. Perhaps gain
a little perspective into
how I am who I am.

I never meant for it to be like this.
This broken record of arguments
and excuses and tears that never
seem to fully stop.

You’ve put your guard up.
Distance is a distinct enemy
of love, so is pride/anger/regret.
—Insert the adjective you wish—

I hate myself for you.
Most likely more than you do,
though you would tell me that
it isn’t possible.

Your anger is beautiful
to me, even though it
is the loaded gun barrel
lodged between my teeth.

Your passion for us was
something I have grown to
envy, even seek to emulate,
now that I understand it.

I never showed you how
I felt, never let myself believe it.
Now I am begging for a
second/third/fourth, chance.

Perhaps the boy has cried
wolf one too many times,
and now must face the inevitable
jaws of a love now lost.

I never meant for it to be like this.
Stuck in this terrible place,
this awkward stalemate
between loving and letting go.