The cemeteries are full of "if only's" and "I swear I never meant what I said's"

* My eyes hang like torn hammocks after a thunderstorm.

* You can't turn poetry into prose, believe me, it's like turning a goodbye into a bowl of narcotics.

* Burning cigarettes in pairs like a reenactment of the twin towers.

* I see your shadow in the corner of dark alleys, clutching a bottle of whisky and my notebook.

* I am having a conversation with every doorway you've stormed out of.

* I am the drunken murmur on the lawn of a funeral home.

* Your ringtone is the sound of a pistol being reloaded.

* But does he kiss you like you are an ocean and although he's terrified of the water, he's perfectly fine with drowning?

* Drowning myself in alcohol because your eyes make me sea sick.

You are a classroom full of departing fathers
waiting for their boys and girls
to return from a school shooting
too scared to check the closet
or go near it for that matter
bones creaking in such a fashion
as if a melody of laughter
in a nuclear testing site
these fathers cry over their children
acidic sobs burning their palms
the futures of the children
they didn't plan to be in
vanquished
then they put the gun
in their mouths next.

With tattered eyes
under her dreary eyes
she travels to
the bottom of
kerosene lip-smacking
bottles
she stops by
the acidic burn
of cigarette smoke
her plane has crashed
but she is still in search of a high.
She is breathless
she is oxygen
she is a walking epitome of shattered
with edges sharp enough
to cut the silence in the room
the room with a dangling rope swing
into oblivion.

She walks like unwanted change in a toddlers pocket,
soon to be banged and bruised
in a washing machine of long gawks and snide whispers
but it's all right because she has changed hands
too many times to count
given if she had the courage
she still wouldn't speak up for
she is a penny attempting to surmount to become a quarter
but pennies are never are appreciated
and are only picked up if so are their heads
it's awfully distasteful
on some days she believes she is too
it causes my stomach to flip
as if a pancake I will set out for her
but she has an eating disorder for compliments
which is why she's always found with her fingers down her throat
in a rebuttal to "You look good" or
"Wow you have beautiful eyes"
often you say sorry for all types of silly things
I wonder if sometimes you feel apologetic for breathing
for often so do I.

The gypsy next door
told me that love was poisonous
as she blew smoke in my face
chanting incomprehensible quotes
amongst scientific findings
proving that swallowing pen ink
causes your stomach to churn
like falling in love.

I drank motor oil
so we could actually go somewhere.

I named stars in your honor
and God himself banished them.

I read college textbooks
because after I told you I believed in love
you told me to grow up.

The turbulence in our tongues
castrates my esophagus
every time I search for you
as if you're the prize in a box of matches.