delusion

i just wrote this poem.

feel free to hate it. but, i don't want to fucking hear about it if you do.

this is the most painful thing i have ever written. ever.


old house.
old hopes.
moving day.
new house.
no hope.
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i built a cardboard temple - a materialistic shrine,
fashioned from the boxes filled with everything i call mine.
these packages are all i'll take when i leave this place behind.
moving on's my only choice if they say 'healing comes with time'.
maybe in a newer house, i won't need lies to say "i'm fine",
really.
(not really, no.) did you know i feel dead inside?
packing. leaving. the walls that held me when i cried.
those tears are carved into this old building's wooden spine,
painstakingly transcribed to salvage days i can't rewind.
those days of summer, winter, lovely living embellished line by line.

i brought hollywood, in boxes, to this place one year ago,
with love and hopes that were allowed - cause back then i didn't know,
that loving hard and living fast make understanding slow.
in broken rhyme and corny lines i eulogize my woe.
everything i just cant take along made poetry that doesn't flow.

do you remember how this house was "ours" and you & i were "us",
remember when this place was new and i still had room for trust?
from the bottom of an empty drawer, a box tells me that you must.

the teeny, empty, tragic box reads "Robbins Brothers" under a film of dust.
the hopeful, hopeless, coffin box,
you killed it with your lust.
who knew we'd be dead and rotting before proposal's band could even rust?

i wonder where you put the ring when you packed up to leave.
remember how you stripped my finger to be sure that i would grieve?
responsibly, ensuring two months salary would never be thrown out to sea.

for all the ways you're a worthless fuck, you always could predict me.
you knew about the way i longed to watch the diamond settle to the ocean floor,
too bad salty water never filled your lungs the way you filled that drunken whore.
you never even saw it coming when i showed you to the door.
i'm sorry, love. you can come home now.


(i don't live here anymore.)