Your adhesive is failing.

A poem I wrote in December and just found again.

The thing you never understood, my
once-love-now-something-
altogether-
indescribable,
is that words are
ten times more powerful
when spoken by someone you love
and words
when handed to a lover like a gift
cannot be taken back and recycled like
thrift-store posters hung on the crumbling plaster of your bedroom
where we once almost
awkwardly
but never quite really made love.
It was something more like
lust combined with
false hope and maybe
idealistic desperation.
(Thank God the culmination was caught hold of and
strangled
before it could take life.)
Call her what you want
and she can do the same.
In the end,
the tape you use to stick those terms to
however many
broken and hopeful once-bright girls,
girls you end up taking
into the cluttered electronic smoke-glow of your life,
will wear out,
and you will be left standing there,
the bare beams of your life and your soul laid open
for all to see,
asking yourself,

why?