All I want
Is my heroine
That I see vicariously
In the arms of a coincidence
And elected poems to speak for me.
I Want to hope to god
Of whom I cannot believe
Because my teenage mouth
Shaped by adultery
Has made a vile construct.
My love becomes a useless thing
A sentiment without action
A stray paper with blood peppered bout.
I’ve made my service
I felt the grandiose emotion
The holy bliss of a teenage kiss
That felt of everything.
It is gone.
I, left with this contradiction,
Am left with nothing but jealous sentiment
Of the more deserving
And the louder-mouthed end,
A questioned answer
That love, love, love is gone
Is becoming, that seeing
Across a nothingness
I held so much significance for
That—****, I felt so a heart-pulse
—is gone.
What I felt is an illusion
And destined to fall to the wayside
As all in this absurdity.