A Brief Dissertation On How Much of a Douchebag This One Guy Is

The words from last night
were still spinning in my head,
flying slow circles around my lifeless body,
picking me apart.

To him, I was some sort of Ethel Rosenberg;
some traitorous,
blacklisted,
commie bastard.
In his eyes,
I was one of “Them”
and “They” were
apparently,
“assholes”.

The picture he had painted
resembled Guernica;
something fucked up
and chaotic
and ugly.
He always spoke in terms of black and white.

I wanted to vomit brown green bile;
that’s how sick I felt,
that’s how much the agent orange burned
as he cut me down
with the speech he had prepared for us,
the words he had put to paper.

In his wake it feels like
“I am become death,
destroyer of worlds.”

Maybe he's right.
Maybe I should exile myself from Thebes,
and wander blind and alone
contemplating my crimes in the darkness.

Rain On a Wedding Day

I tried being sweet.
Little love notes,
tiny gifts,
that plush bear that says
"I wuv you beary much";
the whole damn thing.

Then here's you
with your giant cartoon anvil
poised to drop onto my chest
when you say:

"That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

So fine,
whatever,
you win.
I stopped caring.
The sweeping melody
of this perfect soundtrack to our movie
has scratched into an abrupt halt
and given way to suffocating silence.

No more returned calls,
no more going out of my way to see you.
And I think when I sing that

"Sometimes I feel I've got to
run away, I've got to
get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me."

And now how's this for a new development?
She told me that she
"desperately" seeks my attention.
Now that I don't freely give it to her and all.
So I suppose old adages ring true
Jerks win
The guy who kicks sand in the nerd's face
gets to hang out with Gidget and the other beach bunnies.

I know she's bad news,
just another dumb girl.
It's fake plastic love.
And it's tearin' up my heart.

But you know,
I've got a resolve about as strong
as an Alka Seltzer tablet in water.
So I give in
I'll take any empty affection she'll throw at me
'cause like a wise man once said:
Love stinks.

Make Like a Tree and Leaf

I am french fries without ketchup,
Charlie Brown without Snoopy.
A clown without a circus.
She's leaving.

Stop all the clocks.
Hold back Apollo's chariot.

She can't go now;
not while I feel like tying her down
to a set of silent movie railroad tracks;
not while I'm still reeling,
from feeling like Lando just sold me out to Darth Vader.
Et Tu Brute?
I am Michael Corleone
whispering to Fredo-
"I know it was you...
and you broke my heart."

But really, instead of wanting
swift, bloody Sicilian revenge,
I just want to know that (like me)
she'll also endure the pain of an amputee
haunted by the phantom of their limb.

I sit on her bed and watch her pack.
As she smooths out the wrinkles in her shirts,
all I can think about is
tossing all of her personal effects around the room
and throwing her plane ticket into the fireplace-
(though I think she'd be quite cross with me).

I think I ask too much of time,
and too often I waste so much of it.
Even now
when I ought to be saying
everything I won't get to when she's gone,
I instead just write these silly lines,
and write this poem
as the silence fills
the increasing emptiness of this room.

When I Say That Something

i want to hold your hand in the coldest parts of january
when the wind chills our faces as we stare at the sea
and when i pretend to look
at waves tickling the toes of small children
i'll really be looking at you.
but i won't really see you;
i'll see all of my dreams
written on your sweet face.
words hidden in cursive in the curls of your hair
as the breeze combs them back.
and when you look back at my eyes you ask me;
"what are you thinking about?"
and i'll reply with a half-smile and say
"nothing."
and you'll shove my shoulder
and call me an "ass.";
but, laughing,
i'll just pull you close
sharing with you
all the warmth my embrace can provide,
and when i kiss you on the nose
you giggle at the touch.
holding you
i'll look around at all of the other eyes upon us,
the old couples holding hands,
the middle aged ones chasing after their children,
all of them jealous
of our young bandit love;
and all of this is why i thought i ought to let you know
about how much i want to hold your hand.