I picked up love once,
It, stranded on the pavement, wilting in the heat,
One arm stretched to the soil,
The other at me.
I bent over and cradled love in my hands.
It's frail and delicate thorns
Broke  under the light pressure of my palm,
It's paper-thin petals shattered into broken and dismembered sorrows.  

Although secure it seemed to long for something else.
It twisted and turned,
became restless in my safety.
It thrashed and shook, it convulsed,
And wept silent open wounds.  
It began to decay, burning what was important on the inside into embers of ignored pain.

From beauty to remarkable,
from remarkable to beauty again.
And from beauty the tragic of love was gone.


I picked up love once.
And when I put it down, only ashes remained.

You say not "right now,"

But I know that means forever.

Loving you like this,

Will probably never get better.

it doesn't hurt to be in love with you anymore; i am merely numb
i've hidden fragments of you in separate stores in my mind
and they jump out like grasshoppers
sometimes one at a time
sometimes all at once
and i receive this unbearable desire to smoke the traces of you into every other ***** so they can experience what it's like to constantly want to jump out of my skin to get rid of you