If only thoughts, would congregate,
All these worries, just went to sleep.
My stomachs contents, learnt to keep,
Then just maybe, I could weep,
Say what I mean,
Lay on your shoulder, cry for a week,
Pick up my things and **** it repeat.

I am a fatalistic dame
*** and death, it’s all the same.
Returning, bloodied, from the war
to ***** me on the kitchen floor.

Slick with sweat, my mounted ride
locked and spaceless, held inside.
To have and hold. Oh! Glory be!
And vanquished are mine enemy.

In tattered furs, my Roman king
fresh from battle, seeking sin.
Age and time, the ticking numerals -
why else do we **** after funerals?

How do you do it?
Give your love away so easily
So freely
Only a few times we met
And yet you bid me farewell
With an
I love you

I thought maybe
It had slipped out
Too late to be caught
In the heat of the moment
To be followed by distraught

But you said it everytime
Signed it like your name
At the end of every message
At a point where I think
I don't even know you yet

You don't even know me yet
But what I know is that
Love is too strong a word
To be distributed prematurely

Love is too strong a word
To be used so often
Oh my god I love this
Soon to be discarded

The special kind of love
The one where you really mean it
Is always present
It need not be announced

Love is spontaneous
And unexpected
Not necessarily repeated
Said like you mean it

*it's like the more you use something the cheaper it becomes. It sort of loses its effect and becomes common or habitual.

Remember that morning you came home with a black eye?
Neither of us ever acknowledged it
Because that's what we do
Maybe we think if we pretend it didn't happen then it's not true
Ignore it. It will go away.
But it doesn't go away
It lingers
And lingers
It lingers like the scent of a cigarette long after it burns out
And we continue to pretend it doesn't exist
We put on brave faces
We act like everything's okay
But it's not
It's not okay. None of its okay.
We have an image to maintain
We want everyone to believe we're perfect
But we're not.
We're not perfect. We're far from it.
We're bruised and broken just like your black eye
And maybe we could heal if we acknowledged our problems
But we don't acknowledge them
Instead we deny
Deny. Deny. Deny.
Denial is deadly
Just look at what happens to us.

I used to think that I loved you for
your near-perfection...
But there was just something about
the two of us
Our love was ingenuine, and later,
we realized, impossible

Ironically, it's been the revelations
of your imperfection
That have, I think, made it possible,
for the first time
For us to love- not that we ever
will, not that we ever should
Because, let's face it, it would
probably be awful, it's just-
It's just that your imperfections
Have allowed me to see, once again
Though so much more truly this
time
The possibility of you and of I

So let's get addicted to cigarettes
together, darling
And running, too
In a supreme dialectic of destroying
ourselves from within
While struggling to better ourselves
from without
Something that may be, I think
The ultimate story of ourselves

(Or at least of myself-
I wonder why
I've only ever been truly drawn to
people
By their brokenness...

But perhaps it's better
Not to think about it.)