cremation

there is nothing left to this.

it's the hardcover fairytale
i ripped the skin off
and burned the pages of.

currently
the authors name disintegrates
as ash into earth
into wind.

no words left to read.
no pictures left to see.
no story to tell.

sadly
i will save
the stark remains
in a figurative urn
without a lid
accepting the mist of memories
that still envelops me sometimes.

here, now,
he is the last thing on my mind
as i try to reach sleep and forget at the same time.

there's an arrow in my ass cheek and i find it mildly irritating...(scratch that...very irritating...)

i love the idea of you, the idea of me
but the reality is so much different
it's not like a gift given
where it's the thought that counts
words and actions hold too much weight.
the insanity of love
heightened when you're around
is not equal
to the ache
of dealing with your absence
when you can't be found.
I could try to justify it
every time the thought of you jumps up
and i push it away,
like i'm trying right now.
but it's not worth the effort.
so few love stories ever are.
everything comes down
to two psuedo rationalizations.
i'm lazy
and i'm scared,
and i'm not evolved enough
to take any of the blows that you could deal me
and deal with them any less than indignantly.
forgive me.
i'm too weak
to reach
true vulnerable state.
and even if i ever do
i might never do it gracefully.
detachment and fragile pride
vacillating their emotional aftertastes
between shattered self-esteem
and inflated ego
aren't conducive
to cupid's efforts.
but hey,
at least he still tries.
(that mischievous bastard.
i wish he'd find something better to do with his time.)