I should feel the sharp sting of Betrayal,
as easy as it may--
I have forgotten many Memories,
and forgotten which ones have Stayed--

You gave your so called love to Another,
You gave "our song" as "hers"--
As I was once a beautiful Angel,
am now the devil that you curse--

and How carefully do we tread upon,
the cracks within our faults--
are only the things we let up on,
pretending to exalt--

So it seems only right that I would write,
a Vindictive note Of You--
But darling, I haven't an ill-intent
and the past, I cannot rue.

Emily and I share a birthday
the odds of course which, are 1 in 365
I wonder if she would pay it any mind
if I were to relay that fact to her
in time traveling letters

We'd diss the Romantics
in our clinging to things old fashioned
But perhaps in some sort of
airy heaven mystic light
feather backed eunuchs deemed
our mutual yearly markers Holy

We share introversions too
So I know not to peak behind her cloudy veil
when it's my turn to hike the steps
of the colossal celestial mansion  
I'll just listen to see if you have a Boston accent
or send soaring aeroplanes, if you prefer
with fresh ink drops sliding off into sky

Before I go up there, I may ask my sister too
to burn all my poems, delete them also
Wondering when you request'd the same
did you not care 'bout words lost to air?

I dropped more today.
From the gelatinous 180 last August
To my blubbery 156
I thought this would go faster.
She told me it would.

Emily is like this corpse, you see…
How they’re always on your mind, haunting.
Her ***** stained face, flashes, like a memory
“This is where you’ll end up. Just ******* wait.”

I’m not scared. I promise.
But I don’t trust her pretty.
Not completely.



UPDATE:

I tried to ignore the urge to throw up.
But now that I gained all of my weight back,
I'm throwing caution to the wind,
going to college and
starving this fat away.

I pledge 177 to plunge to 140 by Thanksgiving.

When I first saw your face
My mind began to race
When I first held your hand
It felt like melting in sand
When I first kissed your lips
And you held my hips
It was like it would never end
And my heart you did mend
And when I first was between your legs
Every inch of you begs
But when I first said I loved you
It was true

Was Annabelle just a woman in Poe’s dream?
Was there really an angel on Janet Frame’s wooden table?
Did Emily Dickinson really wear white for the rest of her life?
Was Dante just a bitter ***** to tell people about a red man with horn’s on his head
Didn’t think it was Halloween too soon on the corner of his calendar

I resembled all the traits these  writer’s made of their spoken lives just like Bukowski
If he did live in many rooms and lost his brain cells in bottles
Maybe in the afterlife Burroughs will give me pointers on drugs along with Thompson. Meeting Rimbaud ask him if he ever was in the closet. Took an eyeful of literature before high school,  made friends with boozers, losers and psychopaths. Don’t quote me because I cherish them so much I know I’ll try to make it like them soon, dead yet my heroes they remain alive
WRITE ME OFF WRITE ME OFFF Write me down there’s no pen and papers around scrawl on the wall have a purpose to write them all