This is a series of four line poems, some of which are maybe even connected! Haha, no, I am incapable of narrative in poetry. I wrote these in the span of fifteen minutes. [And then I edited them for about a week, they're better now.] I am not proud of that, writing quickly is almost always a sign of dementia or extreme emotial duress/stress. As you will see, this is the subject of my poem. Enjoy.

(Something is wrong) is something wrong?
Honey, I live alone now, come live well enough alone with me.
What’s wrong with planning our life out?
(This ended all so suddenly.)

Please please, please
Don’t shut that door.
Oh you asked me,
“What’s poetry for?”

It keeps you here, I hope,
Writing quatrains in quatro
minutos, hoping they’ll tie you down
like so many chains and ropes.

They come when you're leaving
and deciding that that writhing
creature on the floor is no longer
worthy of your attention anymore.

Oh desirous but not desired,
The smoke in my eyes came from your fire.
(That burns on what? Unrequited love?)
You're not Jewish yet you look it and it wasn't your heart but you took
it!

But how, I wanted you close (in that closet).
At that pretend bat mitzvah
they lifted me on the chair,
And took my heart as a deposit.

But it was worth it,
I’ll tell you that much.
If anything, they didn’t take enough.
(Love is the spiritual crutch).

See, it’s nice to feel things,
Hear things and
Nice to do things, mean things
and see things through to the end

but it hurts to pretend things,
Dream things, sleep away things,
But I’ve always loved to pretend.
(Some said it’d be my end.)

But why not pretend?
When you’re across the country, a-leaving me,
You’re really sitting a-nexting to me,
(Oh, how lucky can one guy be?)

(I kissed you and you kissed back.
Who cares about those things called "facts"?)