I wonder if you think that I
am as witless as I feel,
falling to my knees and begging you for forgiveness
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.
I think older people
are more bitter and angry
because the world has had more time
to fuck them over.
Love isn’t butterflies in your stomach,
it is a fire in your heart.
Nor is it music to your ears,
but fear in your eyes
as you stand face to face
with the only thing
that can ever truly break you.
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.
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.
It may be arduous at times
finding the light in a world as despairing as ours
but I assure you my friend
that even in the darkest of corners
and the in the most desolate of silences
there will always be a glow
to guide you away
from your solitary tribulation
and into the arms
and if you seek diligently
mercy will seek you
just the same
I’ve stayed awake all night writing letters that I’ll never sign
filling cup after cup with bitter coffee even though I never reach the bottom
before the fluid hurt gets cold, and loses its appeal
listening to 3 minutes of every song before skipping to the next
to avoid the bridge that I don’t know the lyrics to
never sitting down long enough to see the end of the film
I was watching just to procrastinate
I’ve only read half, maybe less, of just about every one of Bukowski’s books
and never have the heart to read until the last page
leaving unfinished poems strewn about the room from one corner to other
they are accompanied by cigarettes that saw 2 drags
before my lungs decided enough was enough
flowers far past the point of living that I had planted but never watered
they’re a melancholic sort of decoration that were given a purpose
but were never given a clear direction
and like us
I could bring all of these things to a close if I wanted to
for now, I think that this book in particular
is better left open