falling from grace

he loves me
he needs to not
i think this when
i have the pot.

lol. or on the pot
i think of glue
they way it wants
to stick to you.

joint compound makes a mess on my favorite pants.
i spank it, smear it, wash it down with water.
it laughs, made of teflon and brie.

the thing is i'd like to be able
to swell out all this angst and be done with it.
you tell me how i should be over him
and i think man, that's so true. how
do people short circuit something
that meant so much to them. it's like
burning pomes instead of losing them.
i guess tho i'm a masochist of sorts
i can't hold the match myself.


somewhere out there. somewhere
it's still alive and breathing
a form of immortality that haunts
like a past life you want to want
to regress to. take refuge in .
hold tightly as smoke in lungs
on their last inhale.