U and S are only a letter apart
R you serious?
I wrote poems for you in my notebook
every day,
every night,
after fights,
when we talked on the phone,
when we fucked,
ever hour on the hour.

I wrote an anthology of letters to you- a reference book of shitty love poems.
All of which with bad punctuation, grammar, and syntax errors.
All of the letters I wrote for you were followed by suicide notes.
I set everything in pen, my love.
You never liked my rhetoric.
You think I'm too connotative, but I say it like it is.
I see things for what they are and I lay them on the table.
You're denotative; you twist words around.
You can't change the original diction, no matter how hard you try.
You're a liar.
And an asshole.
How's that for characterization?
You're the typical male archetype- isn't it ironic how you're everything you hate?
Or is that just coincidental?
You deserve it, you really do.
Somehow, you've earned that privilege.
You're a walking oxymoron- it's all so paradoxical to me.
I loved you regardless.
That's almost satirical but I don't find it very funny anymore.
You're my character foil; you emphasize the good in me with your shitty personality.
You're real shabby guy.
I would have never expected this from you.
I had no idea that you were capable of such deceit.


I had a flashback today, I can recall a time when you were normal.
Can you remember the days when you weren't shady?
Do you remember when we went to the museum together?
We took a bus into the city to see the Darwin exhibit.
We went to see the dinosaurs and you could name them all without looking at the descriptions.
You used to be smart.
You were funny- charming even.
What happened to us?
I'm so nostalgic.
I need you to be who I fell in love with.
Significant other.
We were lovers at one time.
You told me you loved me.
I believed you.
How naive of me.
I never let a guy pull that on me like you did.
You were my first love,
my first heartbreak,
my first serious relationship.
You were the first fuck that wasn't out of pity or obligation.
You were the only one.
I bet you feel accomplished.

Three weeks.
Three long, godawful, weeks post-breakup and you've already moved on.
Well that's great.
That's wonderful.
Good for you.
After all, we're both in college now.
Be with a girl who will gladly put up with your shit,
that's not me babe.
Be with someone who will take it lying down like your bitch babe,
but it wont be me.
It's great to know that you can be so close to a person.
That is until he Bermuda-triangulates himself into someone else's thighs.
Great disappearing act Houdini.
Real original.
It's not like guys haven't pulled that one on me before.
I bet you think it's funny when I'm hurt and frightened.

Six months.
Six months of a calm, blank, and fucked up stupor you had me living in;
dreaming away, dreaming for a way for us to be together.
Even though you were with me.
I spent every day for half a year holding on to the promises you made me, ever so tightly.
It slipped between my fingers.
You fell beneath the cracks,
and for that I'm sorry.
You're a fucking tumor to me that keeps growing more malignant even time I microwave a T.V dinner.
I do that often these days.
I realize that is pathetic but I have more dignity and balls then you'll ever encounter.
I was meditating for six months.
Awake but Sleeping.
Alive but comatose.
Half a year wasted on you.
Half a year believing your lie that grew bigger and bigger and more magnificent every day.
You're a real convincing actor.
All I do is smoke pot in my dorm,
bumming smokes off my roommate,
eating cheeto's and playing guitar.
Somehow, despite it all,
I am so much better off without you.