A friend not left behind, but an early goodbye.

We all want something, and we want it now.
To bare the pain at a later date for the current pleasurable feelings withheld inside our minds.
Our lips whisper secrets to an ear,
To move your thumbs, texting an unimaginable feeling you're too scared to talk to someone about.
Goodbye, now.
Goodbye...

-----------

A spark shocks two people when chemistry is jolted within their emotions. Their common likes, the irresistible dislikes you cannot ignore to rant about. Some sort of mitosis begins, and the friendship sets sail like a speedboat racing to the finish line you wish to never reach. Sadly, finish lines are always set up at the end of a race. Your muscles are not your heart: they cannot run forever. Your discomforts and issues with a person will soon refuse to be jailed up in your lungs, and you burst. Another jolt within their emotions sparks, and the energy heights. Temperatures rise, and soon you're sweating from disbelief and hatred. Some times a pit stop solves the overheating tension, but sometimes not. Your crew cannot fix the bolts that have come loose; no screwdriver can tighten the bonds once holding that friendship. A once-royal winning competitor is now out of the race. The race that finally drew the finish line eleven months in. All the work fell apart; the bolts came loose seven months in, and the pit crew did all it could. Bolts were tightened, but not enough. The clanking noise of jumbled parts now shut down by an over-working engine show through as the crowd sees the cracks. The friendship falls and cannot get up.

All your work was for nothing. You broke down right at the finish line; you forced and forced yourself to stay up, to be the part that worked. No loose screws, nothing. You were fine. Soon, though another favorite comes in. Your parts rust and you are left in the dust. The end has come and you are waiting to be cleaned up and moved on to another race, hoping the finish line will never come. You and your best friend will race until the end of time.

Yet, you will always be Pristine, Christine.

-----

I will miss you, Christine.
I don't care who reads this.

Love, Joey.

-----

We need old friends to help us grow old and new friends to help us stay young.

- Letty Cottin Pogrebin

needle and thread.

no dentist has drilled my teeth
no awkward positions for my
legs to fall asleep.

my fingers dont feel ten times as big
charred
scarred
those parts of my body no longer feel sewn

the lies have threaded your needle
you call a voice
caring,
soothing voice withheld in the seamstress's hand
bringing together thread
by thread.

patch by patch the outfit completes
no outfit on the market can compete
a delicate hand brushes over the perfect hems
made by the fabrication of the tongue
that seamstress tied

then a new outfit
fabricated by madness and lust
a dreamer's dream visually tangible
but only hours away will another toy
another outfit
marketed by others
then will i lose you once again.


five months later
that feeling comes back,
a new seamstress that no longer ties the tongue
you distribute your lies with
the thread has changed  color
of a vibrant blue;
the chills run down my spine as i
talk to you.

the new design is an old one
reconstructed
into a consumer's desire
to digest the truth now portrayed in the actions
given by the designer

the seamstress did not fail this time;
a tongue not tied is a
dream not dead
but which words have left to be unsaid?


----

I hate this poem. Hate it. But it sort-of describes my relationship.