coward…
finish the poem/
do you love her, or do you not?
they are all in anticipation with how you will prolong these unsettled emotions with interrupted punctuation…
ellipses are used as visual seeds on your paper to plant the exposition of the prologue to a metaphor illustrating a tree of all branching decisions that lead to this over exhausted tragedy
spilt the rain check or bark up new rearranged jigsaw  literature structures  
make this sentence not rhyme with any other jargon found above or below
sure…just reinsure you’re not the monster when you have so much self awareness to your problem,
don’t forget you’re an addict to self inflicted mistakes
back stabbing yourself hurts , but the rush is worth the risk your subconscious is the witness and victim but has no way to make you listen

COWARD
finish the poem/
no more discussions

simple beautiful ambience

alone, but only with you,

a red flush of burning flesh ; iron aftertaste on my tongue after the bass in my chest slows down

remarkably makes my heart panic as if in a crowded audience

deep breathe ; chapped lips ; sixth sense pushing me closer to your warmth

subconscious stranger to myself takes control when I know I must hold you ; but lack courage to confess the confidence I give you was a gift that you left

for me…

lust; a duet of polar opposite ambitions

secrets we kept and promises we wished on ; sacred touches and kisses we blushed upon

Insatiable flavor you bring ; familiar like a sound from a song I heard you sing

I don’t want to rush out of this Paradise; but I cant stand being a prisoner of this taunting device: I want to give us a chance, but do I need to put all my love up for good ? I hate gambling - I have a feeling - whenever the house plays with a loaded  dice

he could paint hearts helping any lost soul find love in any helpless moment
strangers say he resembled Euphrates in every picture frame he was captured in
a tortured artist who’s sly tongue could sell sand to a camel—a humble poet who’s ego was unprecedented
—or unappreciated?
unaccepted?
undiscovered by strangers he sees as lovers
silent type typing lines as fast as his unconscious whispers the next word to the sequence
or madness?
happiness?
no, just a hobby at best.
just a stress reliever while work demands attention;
more immediate than a brat’s confession of abandonment while the parent is scheduling plans for his 17th birthday the day the child turns three…
a long time ago he and I didn’t feel so different
now why don’t I feel the same as he does though?

confusion is a ramble that both the speaker and listener losses a sense of direction with…

direction?
dictation?
no, it’s a vacation from overthinking…
just pour out this swarming storm of emotions
just pour out the bottle and let your new voice please answer
a drink doesn’t matter - a sip won’t make him panic
he’s calm like an ocean but can scream like a hammer
a psychotic unstable pacifist
more lost then bones in a wedge under the wreckage
on a salary as underpaid as an audiologist analyst
always here to listen never to speak;
someone always needs a shoulder he just shuffles his feet
crazy lazy weekends ends in reruns locked on repeat

—SHOW TIME—

Sorry for the way I stumbled into your life.
I swear to God-the floor was pulling at my ankles…
also! the celling top was giving me a backside high-five — the moment I finished the fifth and after the sun turned off the lights.

I embarrass myself each time I try to embrace this side,
cliche as falling in love like a rerun television show—
freaking out like a pubescent clown realizing he should have grown up to be a mime;
a silent touch of romantic irony, laughing at my own jokes,
until this awkward moment flies out the window…

stop me if you heard this one before;
why did time grow wings?
to fly by like a crow squalling-
that it is past time you should be married…

—PUNCH LINE—

unreliable communication
=
incomprehensible interpretations

being an addict to tragic accidents-
known as flirtatious Failures fulling the fire
of the metaphorical dying flicker to the love life of our protagonist-
this is precisely what was prophesied
from a poet’s birthday candle wishes.

it’s funny how Lady Luck and cousin karma have this affair of misfortune;
capsizing all relationships—
that were set to sail—
hook-line-and-sinker stationary in an icy-burn isolation.

hopefully time can thaw out this doomed  autobiography (of a poetic confession trapped with 4 borders boring the audience awaiting the same confession)
he has been struggling to sense together,
since the first line that was typed…

—MAKING UP MY MIND—

so I stand up with a straight face—
swallow the frog and eat the butterflies for breakfast—
walk up to you with full intentions,
with a sly grin you echo the words I mummer; just as a mic in a crowed place,
I repeat in a shy broken throat-making me more of a fool from the words I chose-
latter to laugh
and just to write about
how embarrassing I made our very first date…