Into my life, she came back for a reason,
A reason, give me a reason why, anything,
A good ******* reason why she came right back,
As we fell right back, into old routines, our old adrenaline shot of love, minus the pain,
Like good *** never felt so good without her.

What the ****, man,
She came back and now she’s leaving again,
Her reluctance, against her will, she will depart, soon enough, as we lose each other all over again,
Just as we fell back in love,
She came back and now she’s already gone.

Some other ***’s mum, a lesser of a man,
Lacks her heart when I am overstocked with it,
Drowning in her love and not a care in the world,
Besides that thought lingering behind my neck,
Saying she came back but we know she’s already gone again.

Do we, though? Do we really know?
Do we really know if she’s gone gone?
Or is she only gonna be gone until the day she comes back?
Will she come back again? Will she be ready for me?
Will I be ready to take her hand and never let it go the way i have to once more?

I thought I was freed from this torment of love,
But I never was freed, and then she came back,
And it’s like… really ******* perfect,
Yet somehow really ****** knowing how perfect it is,
And it’s perfect timing for her to come back,
Just as she’s about to leave again.

**** it.

My open window bears a gaping hole,
Welcoming and whining the sounds of my soul,
A tasteful mesh of stormy delight,
In a moment so blissfully lonesome tonight.  

Whirls of wind that plow through the trees,
Rain drops pouring and ******* wherever it may please,
Slight brisk drafts of air cooling me at ease,
In this hot, oven-like bedroom, while I cough and sneeze.

Alarm clock sets for the dawn of tomorrow,
I lay here filled with bouts of sorrow,
How this beat of peace is simply a borrow,
Due to this I whimper, whine, and willfully wallow.

The openness of my window, this gaping frame,
The darkness of my bedroom, delightfully same,
Provides sense of solitude in this world, without blame,
I complain not a lick that this is the name of my game.

Many days go by, many nights come through, when I haven’t the faintest, slightest inkling of you. I rest my head easy, hardly do I become queasy, over the memories of what made my love for you so true. Have I ever felt blue, when pondering you? You bet your bottom dollar, though don’t expect the remotest holler, even on the nights when I’m mildly missing you.

How could you, do me the opposite as I have done to you? How could you do the things that I could never do to you? What makes you, so tamelessly shrew, and fail to miss me as I have missed you? What could I possibly do, to know that it could be true, that you have treasured me as I have treasured you?

That’s why I was through, because the moment I found you, you never made me feel as grand as I tried to make you. Complete as you’ve made my heart, you had a particular knack for tearing it apart, and that is why it is left shattered in its own aortic goo.

That’s all on you. That’s forever what will make you the best and worst of you. To be so ruthless and nonchalant with the damage that you do, and play it as though you had no idea that was all you. Now I’m left blue, pretending to be through, when all that I’ve sacrificed was due to this idea that I had of you. To slave in an asylum, to be a lawman and a wild one, a future as bright as a bullet shining out of a gun. That was all for you, my thoughts on tangoing as two, for the rest of our unhappy lives that would have been happier, if only you knew.

Who exactly are you? Who were you to this man who is now blue? Was it your pleasantries, so few, or was it a universal coup, toying with my hopes and dreams, of meeting and ending up with someone like you, someone I thought I knew?

My head is now a zoo, filled with starving animals and poo, moaning and groaning over this animalistic swine flu, that pillages my spirits and slices me in two, all from the memories that lead me to missing you. But I told you to shoo, after your silence asked me that for you, many moons of endless begging for anything to come out of you. In solitude, I’ll watch the drops of the morning dew, condense on my windowsill as I reflect on the person that came from you.

To love such a love, I have experienced so few, the dreams of this young man, who has dreamed a little of you, where I am kissing those sweet, darling kisses of you, in my head as I recall, on the nights when I’m missing you.

The **** does it really?
The **** does it all mean?
To caren’t oh so freely,
To not aim to read in between.

The **** is this monstrosity?
The **** does this represent?
This self-aware precocity,
Diving and thriving in its own lament.

Possessions stemmed from possessiveness,
Losses that led to lenience,  
No ***** to give and not a **** to lose,
Too many have come and went.

The **** does it matter, truly?
The **** should it matter to me?
These thinking caps are on too tight,
I’ll embrace this coldness cruelly.

Not to say that I am so daft,
This emulation of me is unflattering,
I’ve come to love this newfound craft,
The ***** become irrelevant when they stop mattering.

I really don’t,
Not an ounce,
Not anymore,
Not evermore,
I don’t care.

I don’t care that I’m short,
I don’t care that I’m stout,
I don’t care that I’m poor,
I don’t care much about.

What’s to care for?
Who’s to care for?
We’re carless little bees,
Buzzing away at the lost honey,
When someone is spraying our hive.

Ask me if I give a ****,
Ask me if it is true,
You’ll come to learn and realize,
That even this poem doesn’t rhyme,
And I don’t care.

What makes men manly?

Is it depth in tone,
Is it large in build,
A claim of the throne,
And dominance at will?

Or is it indulgence of temptation,
To be a sovereign of fear and pain,
Using women as *******,
Destruction sought to be obtained?

To reap the feral fruits of life,
To sow the damning consequences,
Causing mourning, loss and worldly strife,
Chaos of man’s expenses.

What causes me to seek it,
What causes me to weep,
How I lack these biological ticks,
That keeps the world apart from sleep.

So what if I’m not big and strong,
So what if I’m not masculine,
So what if I can’t be the cause,
Of humanity’s need of Aspirin?

Put me in a quiet room,
Let me stew and think,
I aim to be the greatest groom,
My life will cease in a blink.

Father, son, holy trinity,
A woman’s man is not for lust,
My love transcends to infinity,
But women’s approval is a must.

Color me short,
Finger me stout,
Characteristics I constantly sort,
What is this all about?

Who cares if I’m not mean and cruel,
Who cares that I’m not suave,
Who cares if I’m not chill and cool,
I’m him whom man should evolve.

Focus in,
Focus up,
Focus on…
What?

Can’t sit still,
Can’t pay any mind,
Nothing stimulates,
This third eye blind.

Can’t lay down to sleep,
Can’t bury my face in food,
Pick it up and put it down,
My inattentiveness seems crude.

So much to do,
So little I maintain,
The energy to focus up,
Too much adulthood hurts my brain.