You feel the most shitty nothingness
for the girl you love the most.
You die in the grass with her arm
on your back and you say to yourself,
“This is the culmination of a lifetime’s
worth of work, and now I will die
for her, the it and the all, of everything.”
And then she goes, having received none of your loving,
and you lay there in the grass, dead, and given.
You had thirty-three precious loves
and you gave them
every fucking one of them, Jesus Christ,
And nothing remains for the beauty
you met at another time.
I can see her now, taking it back to her friends
and saying, “I got it from that little bitch
and I will never give it back.
He’s done for now for sure.”
But you keep kicking because you’re
not a quitter.
Given, you stay in the world,
hoping that you’re like
green fields and refill
to bless the world
with more blandulum.
(From May 2015)