Call the technical help desk, report BSOD error
and the possibility
of permanent damage
to my operating system, but
everyone knows the internet lies.
Do not believe wikipedia and other
nonsense. Everyone knows poetry
is heading toward its own natural
destruction by overusing language.
Everyone except the poets, that is.
I googled it, with one eye open.
I love my search bar now,
we have this intense love affair.
I search for you and you appear.
As if you were a God from some
other time. I find you in seconds.
In the deep ocean, you hide,
in the thick of woods, you sleep,
in my mind, you live,
and all this over the fact that
I loved the wrong man for
a few months. He used the
vocabulary of poets.
He knows how fools like us
fall in puddles
I know that I swerve the wheel
in the last second,
or most of the time,
I fall right into it
again and again.
I promise I will not go back
in time for no one,
but for my own sanity.
I could never be in this lifetime with you,
but I never thought
how you could bleed
art on your canvas,
the exact way I could
on white paper.