home.

you’re home.
i look out the window,
and yes, you’re home.
a day earlier than expected.
will you ever speak to me again?
i think not,
you’ll move away in a day
or two
and i will be left to
fill this burning hole
that i wish i could
throw you in.

desperate.

we’ve been broken up
for about four months now.
so inviting you over was probably
a little unorthodox.
but in hindsight,
i’ve never made you moan like that before.

a bunch of shitty poems.

i’m pretty sure that all i’ll ever write anymore
are a bunch of shitty poems;
clever, bitchy one-liners.
because i’m tired of hating myself,
trying to create beauty.

heartless.

maybe you were so hesitant about
giving me my locket back
because it felt nice to have a heart
for once.

the cake theory- sudden thought.

i promise i’ll retire this fucking poem,
but who the fuck gets a cake for the purpose of
just having a cake?
and what kind of fatass eats a whole cake?

feel something now?

once again, we’re in your truck.
and i’m telling you that feeling each other
isn’t really feeling.
except you don’t care anymore.
and if that’s how you want it, fine.
so we kiss, and touch, and pretend
we’re grownups and wish we were actually
feeling something.
and then you finish and i ask you
if you’re feeling something now.

the cake theory- revised.

i guess what i meant is that
you can have your cake and eat it too,
but you can’t complain when it
bites you in the ass
(and you gain a few pounds)
just like you knew it would from the start.