People over romanticize things like
Sylvia Plath's
suicide in the oven
or stars
or love.
Stars are just big
flaming messes
that burn and care
for nothing else.
and so is love.

Today my makeup
was gone by noon
and I didn't take a
shower and I only
slept for three hours
last night so my
eyes were extra
puffy and I ate too
much at lunch and
had an attitude the
next time we saw
each other afterwards,
but you still gave
me a hug and told me
it was valued at
twenty thousand
hugs and you still
told me I looked
beautiful even
though we both
know it wasn't true.
And I can't
                    stop
                             smiling.
So, thank you.

You will not tame this sea
either by humility or rapture.
But you can laugh
in its face.

Laughter
was invented by those
who live briefly
as a burst of laughter.

The eternal sea
will never learn to laugh.

Like a game of Russian Roulette,
I sit here and I sweat.
My palms are cold and wet.
I am waiting for the gun
To make its way to me.
The barrel glistens
As if to my thoughts it listens.
I am waiting for the bullet’s collision.

My heart pounds in my throat.
My heart pounds in my head.
My heart beats in its place.
What if you found me dead?

Finally the gun has made its way
All the way to me.
Across from you at this table,
I do not break my gaze.
I take a shot of whiskey.
I swallow all the ***.
I put the barrel to my head.
Won’t you join the fun?

You know, my dear,
I am well aware of my mortality.
It hangs on by a thread.
How would you like to know
That said thread
Is made up of
All the words you’ve said?

The gun shines like your eyes.
You taunt me with your smile.
“C’mon, just pull the trigger.
You’ve been stalling quite a while.”
Your smile reassures me
So I put some pressure on
The tiny little trigger,
With the help of some liquor.

Nothing happens.
It is what it is.
It does not really matter.
Because I know what love is.