I’ll Only Give Up, When You Give In

I wonder if you think that I

am as witless as I feel,

falling to my knees and begging you for forgiveness

and purpose;

never realizing that when we first met

you had given to me all of the blatant certainty

I would ever need.

I wonder too, If I’ve ever made you as happy

as you have made me,

but then I think, “Of course,

there was I time that I must have.”.

Even though, I know I haven’t.

That realization, although sober, biting,

has never,  will never

stop me from trying.

Maybe that is just another facet

that makes us different,

but more likely,

it is the only thing about the two of us

that is the same.


Don’t Think Too Hard

Sometimes I wonder


if his eyes had been

as wide as his smile

then maybe he would have seen

how much he meant to me


and if his words beat

as loud as his heart screamed

then maybe I would have heard

what he meant to say.


In the end, I’m sure

that we never could have know

the potency of the passion

that had broken our hearts


but healed our bones.


Just One More Thing

I could only ask that when you speak

you speak not to my heart for it is weak

for you, but to my eyes,

for they know better the wrath your words will wreak

then my heart would choose to see.

I could only ask that when you left

you left the old times and I to rest,

that you didn’t tell me why,

and you left my heart bereft

without knowing the truth to come to pass.

I could only ask that you did not return to me

because you thought being with me was easy

but that you found it in you’re heart

that you loved me, as truly and deeply,

as I loved you.

I can only ask that when you return you be honest,

that you do not wallow in the regret and the solace

of the pain you made a part of me

as if all along you had promised

that that was who you would be.

I will only ask that you don’t forgive yourself

that you leave that to me and the regret as well

so that you may see

how your actions once compelled

me to be with you, again.

Some Mistakes Aren’t Mistakes At All

I’m beginning to think that you’re more distinct than I had originally given you credit for.

I don’t know what it is, or was, about you but it sits still sweetly at the tip of my tongue as if you had never used yours to manipulate and reject me.

When I think about all the others my brain hurriedly fills with regret and my face contorts in a cringe that only comes with the kind of mistake that doesn’t change anything but the way you feel about yourself.

And no, you’re not the only one that doesn’t make my stomach wretch, my eyes shut tight, my brain struggle to block the slideshow of mortification, but you are the only one that I had gone so far with and given so much to without hesitation and can still stand firmly on the crumbling foundation of our past.

Sometimes I need to remind myself that wishing I had never been with them and wishing I had never met you are different in the ways that one would have kept me from having the opportunity to make some bad decisions and the other would have saved me from tumbling blindly off the steepest cliff I’d ever stood atop as I fell in love with you.

A Revolving Door Is As Merciful As It Is Repetitious


Tiverton, Rhode Island– Martin Brennan, 34, died Monday

May 16, 2013, when he was caught in the rush of a revolving door

A door he’d stepped through everyday since he was 24.
He leaves his wife, Jane, and his son, William, but they

will hold in their hearts his memory and always adore

Martin Brennan, 34, dead Monday in Tiverton, Rhode Island.
Martin Brennan wrote statistical analysis reports for decent pay,

in a building where time was money and the only thing that mattered more

was a door he’d stepped through everyday since he was 24.
His wife and his family have said they’ll always respect the way

Martin did the same job everyday and sometimes more

in Tiverton, Rhode Island–Martin Brennan, 34, died Monday.
All his co-workers and anyone who knew him would say

that Martin Brennan did everything twice as well as he did the day before,

when he’d passed through a door he’d stepped through everyday since he was 24.


His life was a revolution of the same thing each day,

the seemingly endless cycles never ceasing for

Martin Brennan, 34, dead Monday, in Tiverton, Rhode Island,

in a door he’d stepped through everyday since he was 24.