Why?
It's a painful memory that appears to be settling in for life rather than preparing to leave,
It's been heard by countless millions, and none of them can understand how it sounds to me,
I haven’t been as happy since hearing it as I was when I heard it,
It's symbolic of the most significant turning point in my life to date,
The lyrics are so perfectly foreshadowing of a problem that I couldn't fathom that I’d have,
It has a stronger connection to memory than any other song,
It represents the perpetual unhappiness that I refuse to believe controls me.
I'm unhappy.

Where?
A car that I haven’t seen in years,
On a street I barely saw enough of,
In a town I wish I could visit again.
A happier place that I can see but can never return to,
Personified by a face that's disappeared from here.
Somewhere I miss, yet somewhere I hate;
Somewhere that needed the version of me that died in that very place;
A cemetery.

When?
Happier times;
A collection of moments which are infinite from within,
Yet minute from without.
A time when I could define myself,
Through the vice of another person;
Albeit vicariously, it was the last time
I was able to define myself.
I was everything; I was the world.
And then the world ended.
Happier times that I can't and won't return to.

What?
A song;
A memory;
A beautiful beat,
In a story that nobody's telling.
A soundtrack to a movie nobody wants to see,
A composition that will fall on deaf ears;
Yet still be heard by the world at large, call it irony.
Something nobody can take away from me;
Despite how tenaciously I've tried to get rid of it.
A succession of noises that would be meaningless to me,
Were it not for the memory.
The memory.

Who?
She, I, and the drivers of some road in Georgia;
Drivers that didn't notice then and don't notice now.
She, driving, demonstrating, performing;
Has driven on, failing to notice.
Me, her, and the songwriter, I suppose;
Me, a person I don't know,
Replaced by a person I can't.
The songwriter, collecting her checks and trophies,
Probably not a **** to give about the troubles
Of some ******* who heard her song.
Us, a concept foreign to me;
Unbeknownst then, well studied now;
Still as foreign as that state,
That city,
That road,
That car,
That place that I can revisit,
But never go back;
Her.

The Song?
Because I'm unhappy;
In a cemetery,
During happier times that I can't and won't return to;
A memory
With her.
I need more words.

Words
Nevermind, I'll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you.
Don't forget me, I beg.
I remember you said:
Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead.

But that's not right.
I won't find someone like you;
There was no you.
I wish anything but the best for you;
You selfish child.
Please forget me;
I'm nothing worth remembering.
I've forgotten everything you said.
It rarely, if ever, lasts in love.
It always hurts.
Laughable,
The things I tell myself to bandage
A wound that doesn't appear.
The clichés I give meaning to are

******* pitiful.
Just about two years and counting.
Two psychiatrists,
Two half-assed ******* suicide attempts,
Dozens of classes,
Legions of friends,
A handful of people so much like you that they'd failed to notice there is no you,
And you're still talking about this
Pile of ****.
Who's talking about it?
Me? You?
Nobody.
It's white noise;
Habituation at play.
A memory not worth remembering.
Three years of piano lessons,
The lines of my scripts,
The best films throughout history,
Even the Eagles game from last week is

Worth remembering
This,
This moment in time occupied by just another pop song,
Time spent with a person no longer there,
Family member after family member, anecdote after anecdote,
Things not to say or do in front of her hulking ******* of a brother,
Approval of people I wound up discarding.
What now?

I need more words.

Where were we?
Fresh year, fresh start, and the Eagles were still a winning team○;
A dorm, a drunken haze, a bed, a city unparalleled;
Untested grounds for a young idiot
Like me. She certainly did
And wasn't afraid to show it.
Independence, experience, maturity,
And a stunning mutual lack thereof.
Problems, buried like the worst ******* time capsule ever.
Happiness (unsustainable)
Love (attachment)
Future ()
A candle burning down to its last wax can’t relight,
And a pile of wax won't help me see in the dark.

But who needs candles anyway?
I'm better off without candles,
Playing with fire can get me burnt.
And besides, lightbulbs are brighter and more efficient.
I’ll install lightbulbs all over the apartment,
Once I can figure out how to turn the power back on.
Oh, there aren't power lines running to this apartment.
(sure wish I had a candle right about now)
Maybe the light from this cigarette will help.
And I could sure use a cigarette right now
Because they’re playing that song again.
Surely I can find some better music than this.
This station seems nice, let's see what she can offer.
They're playing that song again.
Over and over again.
Is it just me, or are they always playing that song?
It's always that song, no matter what.
It's all I ever hear.
Pop radio sure is terrible these days, right?
Sure is.
Can't walk down the street to class without hearing

That ******* ******* song.*

(
Nobody else is hearing it.
I'm the one singing it.
My life's a ******* joke, isn't it?
)

○The Philadelphia Eagles were 10-6 in 2010, 8-8 in 2011, and 4-12 last year. And during the ‘still friends’ period, we watched the division rival Giants win the Super Bowl together. I ******* hated it.

******* ****** demons.. they're everywhere.
And I've known it about this site
for so ******* long.
And the witches..  Jesus Christ--
control freaks,   every one of you.

What..
do you think your creativity 'substantiates'  you?
They're   just   *******   words.
Your creativity comes with an accountability
but you won't have any part of that..   will you..

If your demons are so ******* powerful,
why do they hide inside of you?
Like a pathetic  excuse of a man, stepfather--

Using..  using..  using.. his wife's beautiful daughter..
over and over and over and over again.
It is no different with these Unholy shitbags also..
(Oh, but don't I gather the most followers with my words?)

It's just empty ******* babble, Babe.
In the Realms,  it means nothing.
Absolutely.   *******.   Nothing.
The *******, inhabitor is just an extension of your
empty, ever-controlling..  soul stealing Mother--

    It's an extremely-closed loop, Lovecakes.
                End of ******* story.


******* ******* demons..
the pathetic ******* are everywhere..

So pick up the scissors and cut it the **** out!
Then take a stick and knock it the *******.

Alright, all done?

Are you ready for a conversation consisting of truth?
Or does that concept still, somehow, confuse you?

For years I've been fighting a battle with the cowardice in you!
And now, after all of it, I have more emotional involvement in my shoe.
No, scratch that, not in my shoe...
Because that dog **** I stepped in last week, has more integrity than you.

Fidelity, do you know what that is?
Egregious, do you know that word exists?
How about 'low life ***** *******'?
Oh, meaning got through.
Allow me a moment to adjust my vocabulary for you.

You're a coward. A snail. A waste of my time and space.
A blister, throbbing pustule on the *** of the human race.
You have never been loyal.
You're robbing me of my youth.
The worst part is, I see myself becoming like you.

I admire the way you avoid the subject.
The method you use to crawl out of the line of fire.
Throwing others in front of the bus so you don't hit the tires.
That's right, its all their fault, duh.
You really think I'm that ******* stupid, huh?

Well. *******.You're a ******.
A *******, class A.
A dissapointment, A nebbish, A poltroon, A quitter and recreant.
Someone I should have never given a second glace.
I mean it.

I'd be a liar if I didn't admit.
I regret the last four years of this ****.
I'd be ******* stupid to stick around for more of this.

I give your life meaning? Purpose?
If that's true I hope you're crushed by my indifference.

On the streets of gold,  forgiven
by the skin of his teeth, maybe.

On here; on Earth--
stuffed in a corner
Bloodied.. trundled, fondled
wearing his sin--

(his unholy,
carcinogenic/pathogen).

And I,  I want to go to heaven..?
I would **** you, everyday
You self-serving *******,   now forgiven

I will take hell, you ****

She is still down here
and so, here.. on earth (and below) 
will become my heaven.

And I will become like you
and I will wear your pelts of perpetration
     and I will be hated for it
but there will be healing in the land
    because I am not  of you
nor am I of those who continue to do  

what it is that you have done

May the heaven you have entered into,
fully forgiven..   fully 'healed'
    become your hell

  through all things revealed

You felt nothing then
and you feel nothing now
But soon, you ****.. you will feel
I promise you  that  you will feel..

There is a darkness, even in heaven

I seem to have missed the lesson,
or maybe it was a paid seminar,
where being a ******* to folk not like you
is seen as cool

A staggering self-belief, or indoctrination
into a way of thinking that excludes
the workers, powerhouses, batteries,
seems insane in a way
that only limited lineages
seem genetically capable of

But now I’m stooping, so I’ll stop

Let’s all stop
being in thrall to noisy *******,
rugger-buggers who had charmed and broken youths,
who knew no hunger except in minds
and no kindness except paid for

I would feel pity, but these bred monsters
are parasitic,
so to let them survive,
******* and spouting lies,
kills us all in the end.

Britannia rules these waves

Your finest of  dreams
became known..
And in those precious hours
you soared,  as I soared
until your own,  
horrendously skewed,
self-view
slaughtered the ever-living
****  out of it all..
And, oh my sweet
little desert-wanderer-
you have been mad at me
ever since.

I did not create your view,
someone else did-- so horribly..
so very unfairly
     long before we ever met
I came to help  restore  in you
that which was stolen from you
so very long ago.
   But you hauled off  and kicked
   me in the ****
   as soon as your ever-wearing
   internal-messaging system  kicked in
And down I went, my beautiful--
a total ******* in your eyes
with no way left to bring you  the gold
your better-everything, still hungers for.
**** me, my beauty..
baby stick the knife in
    deep.
And in a moment of remorse
your tear-stained rusted fortress-gate
will swing wide open..
and with my last dying breath,
I will hand it over to you anyways--

         The gold your war-torn heart
         had always hoped for
         but never thought it deserved.

   You are Ishmael, my beautiful--


   a blood-borne carrier
   of the Living Word

My self-awareness is clear. Blunt. It's ugly and painful. To call it enlightening, is putting it lightly.
       Honestly though, it's relieving, intriguing, and totally necessary. Character building, and **** near life-saving.
      They say "seeing is believing"... But what about these feelings? The temporary, non-factual, and oh so ******* deceiving.
      I prefer to walk this life in honesty. Real, raw, and owning responsibility. Without concern for the possibility of living "lonely".
       My truth. Your truth. THE truth. I struggle to grasp how it's so hard to direct all my best efforts... Not for you, not for him, or for any of them. But for me. And at least for now, only me...
      Like clockwork. One, two, three. The bad decision making. I always have been, I am now, and always will be, my own worst enemy.
     Some will say that they "admire" my ability. My ability to rep nothing more, and nothing less... Then just me. Inside I'm laughing. It's almost really ******* funny! With a head clouded thick and Smokey and a heart I seem to keep on freezing. Painful realities, I continue to keep on stuffing. Like it's all okay. Right here, right now...see in my eyes that my lips are saying **** it. Again. Sell off another piece of my soul & commence to feeling nothing.
      Turns out with all this ducking and dodging of reality, I myself am being robbed of the real me. The chick they so ignorantly pretend to be "admiring". It's gotten to the point of what I deem as wasteful & petty, being sold short... Ultimately starving your life, my life, and this ******* Society, of true, legit beauty.
       The crimes of passion that fuel within me. The answers remain exposed. Ever so transparently. As I once said, my self-awareness is more than a blessing. Granting the ability to understand what blatantly lay before me. Allowing my swollen eyes to see ever so clearly. Observing, the chaos and defeat.
Hear me say, although I'd prefer to scream.... No matter the faulty choices, or the seemingly impossible hopes and dreams... I can be my own muse, my own Mentor, I will be just me. My own home team. Completely denying the hopelessness that the greatest of evil strives to feed within me.

"My marriage is failing in the name of poetry."

This is difficult to have to read, kid.. I'm so very sorry. And again, I am sorry for what I am about to say, for so please forgive me.

This is not a poetry site here, it is an incestuous mosh pit of a social media site that uses poetry as a means to that end. The best way to save your marriage is let your husband read what I just said and hopefully, he will ask you to leave the site in order to save the marriage. I have watched you get in trouble for 4 years now-- falling for this one over here, and falling for that one over there.. most of them are a bunch of two-bit posers, and more than a fair share of them are simply ****-******* trolls. Many of these men who pass themselves off as poets and attract women to themselves are married or in relationships.. which makes it quadruple pathetic to me when I  see the **** that goes on here on this Faceb--.. I mean, poetry site.

You are a rare Jewel, babe. I saw it in you from day one. And I happen to know that your husband is a good man with a good heart-- and he's probably smart enough to know that any man that would fall for you is just doing what would come naturally when he sees the writing of  such a high-quality heart and spirit. But somewhere there is a line,

and this ******* place don't give a **** about lines.

My heart goes out to him.. in fact, to the both of you, because to lose one another would be a great loss indeed, and each of you know that. Know yourself, beauty.. and at any given time, know where your true help comes from. It doesn't come from any of these agenda-ed ******* yahoos who fancy themselves as poets and whisper sweet nothings to you through private messaging. I know you well enough to know that your heart knows exactly where it's help comes from-- especially once you get away from the cloud of dust that gets stirred up by many of these social interactions that carry on, and on--   and without ******* end, around here.

Let him (your husband) read this and see if poetry is actually ruining your marriage--
or is it that there is a social media site that's trying to pass it off in the name of poetry, that is causing your marriage the most problems of all.

And, yeah.. you very much have a right to be upset at me over what I have just said, love.. I certainly wouldn't blame you if you were. If you need to block me, I would understand.. but consider doing yourself a favor and showing your husband this first. Love has a brutality embedded deep within it, and I've just shown it to you. I'm so sorry.

"Faithful are the wounds of a friend,
but deceitful are the kisses of an enemy."


Show it to him, you absolutely gorgeous angel, and then feel free to block me or tell me to ******* or whatever you feel might be right to do. And if any of these posers that have been working on you for years don't like what I said,

well.. they can **** my mother-******* ****.

Peace to you, love. xox