Months later as I ponder over all
that you were right about,
and all that I was right about, too,
I can’t help but wonder how
two people
that were so right could be so wrong.

After shamelessly dissecting each waking moment
from the first time I saw you across that crowded restaurant
to our series of wrestling matches and late night talks regarding our pasts
and the future that awaited us,
to the last time I bitterly, with tear-filled eyes, shook your hand goodbye,
I’ve concluded that everything said
was of the utmost truth
(with a few exceptions, of course)
and that your love for me was more genuine than most.
So why is it that I am asking myself this question for the
hundredth time
as I sit on my balcony watching the sun rise to the tips of the
dead, filemot colored hills after another
sleepless night?

Maybe we were too right.
Like two pieces of a puzzle that fit too tightly to be a match
no matter how hard you try to squeeze them together.
One always overpowering the other.
And so back we’re thrown into the vast pile of pieces,
perhaps finding each other again,
but never truly fitting until we realize that
maybe we weren’t so right after all.

I cry when angry
repulsive, fiery, cyan tears
that burn from within
and vision becomes nothing but fog

this poem...
is aptly named
for I have nothing to say anymore
perhaps I never did

I just sigh and scratch my scalp a lot

Did you have to work for your indifference
Or has it always come naturally
Because you're unnaturally calm
In the face of this catastrophe

Is one born with apathy
Or is it a lack of something else
Do you even have the capacity
To analyze yourself?

Do you have, at least, the tenacity
To process what you've felt
Because if I were you tonight, I think
I'd be foaming at the mouth

Close your eyes.
Why?
Don't talk.
What are you doing?
I'm composing.
I don't understand.
Put your hand on my heart.
It's so fast.
Faster than yours.
What's the matter?
I care.
I do too.
Not enough.
What does that mean?
I'm finished:*
                     Of two, the one who cares less
                     is the one with all the power.

You and me forever
That was such a lie
You said we'd always be together
Boy you had all the right lines

You said I love you
So many times
Those words
Meant everything to me
They meant nothing, a
Sputtering river from your mouth

You meant the world to me
Built me up
When I thought no one
Would ever love this broken catastrophe

Now we're nothing
You're not my baby
There is no you and me

No matter what
You'll always have a piece of
This broken heart

A figment of imagination
crawling through
night
day
and evening.

Frisking through meadows
of stiff hands
and painted numbers,
this concept so lightly known as time,
has lived to contrive the clockwork
behind the functioning world.

It doesn't stand still; for it plans
escapes as swiftly as radio-waves.

Melting clocks tick away
at the hourglass of our fate.

Grain by grain...
time escapes the void we call life
and deceases us through the midst of anamnesis
and ideation.

It is all in our minds.