Forest Fire

You swept through
Like a forest fire,
Burning everything in sight.
Wanton devastation,
Reckless and cruel,
Leaving only ashes
And smoke
Rising in pretty curlicues,
The last sign of beauty extinguished.


Let me

Let me write you poetry,
Let me plumb the depths of my heart,
To find the words,
To describe your elegance,
And your beauty,
Your poise,
Your humor,
And your strength,
Let me weave you soliloquies,
About the shape of your smile,
Or that shade of blue in your eyes,
That seemingly changes at your whim,
Let me pen you my memoirs,
And tell you it’s ok,
Tell you that you were the best thing,
That ever happened to me.


I am a fool,
Designed to crave forbidden fruit,
Made to flagellate myself,
Over and over,
Until my skin tears,
And rivulets of blood seep down my back,
I am a victim of my own folly,
A prisoner in my self imposed prison,
Praying for another day,
Where I can taste the sun on my skin


You were the tornado
I never wanted to disappear,
You left my heart
Without a home,
Dazed and stumbling
From one dead end to the next,
And I still wander,
Late at night,
Looking for a light,
To guide me home


All that’s left of you and I,
Is the past tense.
You and I are
A handful of photographs,
Old emails,
A single boarding pass to Toronto and
Hazy memories,
Fraying at the edges
More and more every day.
I miss you.
I wish you and I could be any other tense.
I wish the thought of you and I mattered.


A derelict house stands,
Bereft of purpose,
A cold gust blows,
As faded shutters clap

Plaster cracks,
And wood rots,
Pipes freeze,
Burst and rust

The wind persists,
Making the house moan,
As though mourning
The death of hope

The house shudders and falls,
Its poor bones giving in,
(Or giving up,)
And somewhere a bell solemnly knells

It’s true what they say: plotting a breakup is a lot like plotting a murder. I just dumped the prettiest girl I ever dated. My dick hates me right now. She was beautiful, bright, and part of an abysmally dysfunctional family.

It’s the first time I’ve been the dumper and it does feel better than being dumped. I was going over in my head the entire day how I’d do it. I meticulously laid out the script. The actual conversation followed said script only loosely. I felt a lot worse about myself during the plotting phase than I actually do now that it’s over.

It was on the phone, which admittedly wasn’t the plan, but was probably for the best. Tears could be heard on the other end.

She asked me why and was violently defensive about every reason. She ended the call bitter and sardonic. Taking her abuse was the least I could do after wounding her ego. It’s probably not every day a pretty girl has the misfortune of being told that her company is no longer desirable.

I’m 25. I have no patience for shit that doesn’t make me happy.