Poetry that doesn’t rhyme is a fucking waste of time
[I'm wasting time here]
dribbling on the page.
It’s all over isn’t it.
Thank God for that, was starting to drag
lover turns to recreation which turns to obsession which turns into occupation which takes over
your mind
your thoughts
your life
and you realize
that living life
waiting for you to come to your senses
living on the knife-edge
for you
really isn’t worth the effort.

All possibilities are landing at my feet
and as I walk the empty street I feel free again.
It’s time to start afresh, it’s time to start anew
it’s time to face a brand new world
without you.

sure I miss the good old days
the times the places
etc.
they’re gone
the who you were is gone
and who we were is gone
and who I was is gone
but who I’m becoming is real
and the paralysed limbs are starting to heal
and the feeling is returning to a heart and mind previously numbed by you,
the ice queen, my dear beloved, the her and the who and the brand new you.
But yes, the ice is thawing.

I tried to build a warm cozy igloo inside your heart.
It collapsed.
Well today, ice queen, my dear beloved,
a blue arm grasped the air outside your avalanche, and felt the still sweet air for the first time again,
and breathed its first breath again
and felt the sweet touch of life again
and said to the ice queen never again.