BREAKUP to BREAKDOWN

we can
continue to pretend like this isn't going to end
keep up with the lie: 'we'll always be friends'
make promises to go to events we'll never attend
cause our broken hearts we have yet learned to mend

we may
say that we'll touch bases again some day
even go as far as to making a reunion date to see a play
until the unreturned calls and text messages delay
pretend we may; some how, some way

we will
think about the countless hours we've spent having sex
deny to our friends that in bed we were each others best
continue to cheat, even though we've already failed the test
depend on the rest to clean up our own mess

we might
see each other somewhere, some day again
i'll have other women, you'll have other men
half-hearted good wishes to each other we'll most likely send
a hand we'll lend so we can continue to pretend

we shall
sever all ties and stop spreading horrible lies
refrain from the flow of anymore tears collected in our eyes
see each other at funerals when someone we know dies
and just like the day we parted, tears shall be cried

THOSE

     THOSE

This—like all that came before it and all that will come after it—is for those.

those

who paced phone in hand, waiting for pusher-man to arrive with their respective surprise.

those
who steam for pillow dreams and beams of the light green, striving to know what it all means.
those
who seek thrills in form of pills, remain paying the dollar bill for your fill.
those
framing flies by ingesting the fungi—absolutely and positively high
those
CD-casing lines of white so clear of bind, it burns while you yearn for more— More.
those
supposed OGs addicted to OCs from beach long who could sing a song , who’s“never wrong”
those
tweakers whose life remains on blasted speakers, always in search of
PEAKers.
those
who troop to Country View to get your mind a stew, keep doing what you do!
those
who hit the sauce in order to fake dreams of being a boss who never ask: “what does it cost?”
those
who rub liquid ‘cid on palms and enter forest to be calm and go by the name of, Tom.

those
on line at Acres High seeking high, up and down West Seneca they fly

those
who took the bait and stopped the hate and came and mate with room OneTwentyEight

those

Xannie-barred out with ATM cards out, en route to sin, trying to remember pin.

those
who can’t handle, the wait for aid that’s financial, placing spare change on mantle.

those
constantly chewing through lolli’s while in search of another date with molly

those
on line to get behind a dime and grind to top 40 rhymes—stop wasting your time

those
shorting dimes to pay the fines for the crimes they avoided doing time, living life like a corona holding the lime
those
supposed future linemen breaking hymens at Universities with girls who believe in “perfect timing”

those
middle class tricksters, repulsed by hipsters invading restaurants that sit on best listers.

those
trading in small town deers for big city tears, I hope you find what you fear.

those

who seek bliss from the ‘list, from jobs to a lady you can call Mrs.______________

those
not mentioned in here through name or societal fame yet believe they’re all the same.

                                You know, those…