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Poem
certainly a sinister truth,
but one from which none of us can run,
that the love which one seeks can be
so vibrant & so riveting, so supposedly
different than all which came before,
such that would force one to stop in their 
tracks, such that one may try & change 
the whole of their existence to shape that
very possibility of a coupling for the lasting
of the rest, such that one screams at the 
top of their lungs as happy as they think they
ever could be, such that one runs to tell all
their friends, their family, such that one
always wonders what the other is doing,
such that one begins to make their plans
for the rest of their lives (as if now impossible
to be alone again), such that the upkeep
one once worried over (of the aesthetic 
value of the body, of the encroaching harsh
reality of age & entropy) seems to now 
matter less as if a chest of gold has been 
found on the bottom of the ocean, such
that one reevaluates their ideas & their
beliefs, such that one believes again in
the concept of devotion, of commitment,
of loyalty, of trust itself---
	
yet, in a moment’s time (however long that
moment may be for one exclusively) it all
begins to fade, such that the excitement 
recedes, such that there is a loss of individuality
now replaced by that coupling, now there is
only the two, such that everything is now
sacrificed for the benefit of perpetuating 
the dragging life of this lack of interest, such
that all the friends & family see a turn, such
that the social norms that were abided by 
now seem to be the most destructive, such 
that a sadness comes when one begins to
wonder where they would be had they not 
invested half their life into this decrepit thing,
such that they believed the hype, such that
they believed in the very naïve concept of 
belief & now suffer the deserved consequence,
such that in the eyes of those that have lived
together now wither together, such that the
hopes & dreams which were never shared to
begin with now creep out from under the 
smothering coupling, such that the individual
screams now from within to be free, such that
the whole of one’s life can never be gotten 
back, such that it can never be relieved, such
that regardless of every possible regret, death
rears its head sooner than later & the choices 
made in hopes of finding some kind of unison
or some kind of something (whatever it was
that had been lacking, which one felt that they
could fill with another), now it all begins to 
rub together raw as two sticks which no longer
start a fire---petrified & emotionless.
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