Is it good enough to say I'm sorry?
Because it hasn't been before
And I have lost trust in the system
That's held me down and will keep me down more.

There's a little bit of anticipation
And even more fear of demise;
I just can't help but be afraid of
The colors in your eyes.

Well the rhetoric stands and I stand accused:
I'm a bit out of practice and I'm a bit too into you.
I have way too much to say and not enough time
But I can't help it, "I'm yours, what's mine?"

They call us hopeless romantics
And sometimes we get lost
In far too general opinions
And far too many far-away thoughts.

First time I saw her she was on a balcony
Like Romeo and Juliet.
I wish I never looked away from the stage
'Cause last time I saw her she was dead.

Now that you know more about me than I do about you,
It's about time for a second glance.
You can just relax and regret and I'll turn your head
Whenever I think I'm something worth seeing.

I'm flawed; there's a few remnants of abuse
And I'm not very good at saying sorry
But I already love you more than you do -
And if that's not enough I'll try even harder
I already feel your pain more than you can
And if you disagree I'll say I lied.
Anything but, "You're yours, I'm mine."

For a moment you didn't notice
And my fingertips felt the broken ridges on your skin
Then you pulled away, and I could feel your heartbeat in the air -
No one had ever touched you that way, I'm sure
And I was tempted to say, "sorry,"
But then I realized that I wasn't.

Should I have asked permission?
It's the spontaneity, I think, that made it real
There was no filter then between us,
My head on your lap; your hand in my hair
Almost so intimate that it's grating to put in words
Because its meaning is lost in translation.
I never thought I'd write again but the gates have opened
Or, rather, the cracks have burst
So the sourgrass can grow
Like a **** making its living in a parking lot
Struggling against the tar
But always
Always breaking through
Given enough time

What is love.
Can one just walk away?
"Sometimes."
Sometimes?

It seems a bit familiar
This feeling
And expected
Even though I didn't see it coming
But what more can I do?

And what better place to compose poetry
Than behind the wheel of a ****** car
Going twice the speed limit
And half off road

And what better way
To celebrate
The scars
And the fact that God won again
Than to cry tears without feeling
Anything at all?

How can I even be mad?  
You cried, too.
Less, but that's given -
That I expected
Not that I expected anything at all.

But what about Thanksgiving?
What about the place set for you?
And that date to Barnes and Noble
I asked you on months ago?
Who am I kidding, that wouldn't have happened
I only remember it all now
Kissing in the rain
Baking cookies
That money she owed you
Bringing you hot chocolate on the first day it snowed
The way your hips moved against mine
How ecstatic  you made me
And the way I thought I could make you happy too
And the way you seemed happy, in the apple orchard
And when we held each other under the fireworks
On our first date
And that time we talked about the universe and philosophy
And how excited you seemed
That you found someone who understood
Another INTP
A lover worth giving your body to,
Your mind,
Your soul,
Being one with.

I must've imagined it.
I'm crazy, after all.

I can see the air
I can taste it
Crisp like winter is coming
Harsh like the cinders in a camp fire
I can see the air
The way you can see snow
And clouds
And fog
The way a microscope can see cells
And a lover can see life
In every space
For miles on in every direction
I remember a car crash
I remember my heartbeat in my throat
And my limbs still and silent
The way you're paralyzed in a dream

But I don't remember why
I don't remember the beat of the rain on the windshield
I don't remember the way your lips sat on your face
Expressionless
Like they might not be there
And there wouldn't be a difference
Or the ten dollars I gave you to get a coffee
And the seven dollars and twenty-three cents I wasn't given in change
The properties of the Hinge Theorem
Being your reason for cutting across the lawn
Every time
That red light in your room
In the corner
Barely visible
Barely noticeable, till it was dark and I couldn't sleep beside you
The way I never saw her cry again
After she shut off the tears
That one time
In my basement
The way her mom never said, "I'm sorry,"
And probably never will
Because what do those things matter now?
It's been a year
Maybe two
Time doesn't heal but it dulls the pain
And I guess that must be the same thing
To adults

You wrote him a poem.
Once you said, "I don't write,"
Like I was all that could move your pen,
But then you wrote him a poem.
And maybe this burn would quiet
If I could be grateful
That all the others are for me -
But you wrote one for him
And one's enough
To change everything.

Dost thou still want it?
This that beats for you?
This that stutters only for you, in every sense of the word?
But what are words?
I've yet to see prose that taught me rhythm,
Just as I've yet to see love that taught me to love.
By God, I hate the lies that come with love -
I hate the joy that comes with love, when t'has left me -
But then how can I love love?
That Cupid's wings are clipped I swear to know;
Then how to take a poisoned shot from below
Without flinching?
Aye, that glorified hunter,
He is not a lover's friend
And it is not he that crafted this;
It is not he who fights for this;
It is not he who chooses if his wound
Is cauterized by your touch
Or is fatal.
Such an unsteady ***** is the heart,
Always frantic;
Always too quick or else too stagnant
But 'tis our driving force that pulls us back
In more ways than one.
Mine is yours if yours is mine
And he cannot claim the key -
Not if you give it to him to hold.
Because the key is not just in the necklace
You wear to sleep and wear to run,
And wear when seams are left undone;
It is your own that holds the shape to cause the click,
And perhaps, if we lay close enough, you'll hear'th it.