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I love you

This will be an epic poem Written in crayon I love you in the same way that every other person has ever loved someone when they claim that it is too great to be understood Claiming that no one else has ever known the extent of their own great emotion Claiming that seeing their beloved has something to do with the evolved form of a caterpillar in their internal organs My butterflies were cut out of rusty tin cans and sold on street corners in Tijuana I join the contingent of the unrequited lovers Where the poetry grows more despicable

I love you so much I had to look into antidepressants

I love you so much that I started thinking about suicide on an intellectual level I love you so much that anyone who has your haircut makes me want to curl up into a ball under my covers and sleep until my synovial fluid leaves me for calmer waters Maybe I don’t love you Maybe I love the idea of you Placebo or not you are a drug that makes me feel like shit when I wake up with your needle hanging out of my arm and a tourniquet on my heart Or the reptilian part of my brain The feeling starts in the palms of my hands and spreads out into my fingertips My palms send a signal to my central nervous system and my tears flinch back from the sharp burning You have created a monosynaptic reflex pathway

I hate you

I can no longer distinguish these feelings Rather, the words distinguishing these feelings no longer have meaning

I blank you

I am an emotional masochist and sometimes when I start to forget what you look like I go to places knowing you will be there and it all begins again I don’t ever forget what you look like but I do forget how your voice plays across my ears I have stopped listening to the content of your speech because it is baffling and infuriating I pick up on key words They remind me that you are not a happy ending No one will ever live happily ever after with you Not unless they put you in a museum

But I love you

I want you more than anything Everything else I want is a cheap knock off that reminds me of some aspect of you: bread, sleep, techno, cereal, spray paint, lies I love you as a muse that never answers my plea Oh sing muse You who inspires me to great pathos, and symptomatic aspects of the DSM-IV

I fucking love you, you motherfucker

I know I am the billionth person to brutally murder analogy and metaphor for lovepain I read Love in the Time of Cholera before I could understand mania I love you like a book A book given life and lit on fire Sitting charred with scraps of insight and nonsensical punctuation I fear telling you this because it would only stroke your ego You have succeeded again and you give nothing back I’m terrified of you I leave conversations, because I have named my paranoia after you My depression, my paranoia, my loneliness, my hope The nametags stuck onto their chests all have your name Sharpied illegibly after HELLO MY NAME IS I love you with all the power of my not-logic My logic continually wills you away into the parts of my mind that can deal with you nonsensically – the way you live your life I love dreaming about you, but even there you break my heart

I love you in theory

I hope soon to stop loving you No, I hope soon to stop loving your reality I hope soon you will only be a memory that I can skew and tatter and drop and recover and slip on and cry over and bite down on and cherish and beat and coddle and taste and forget and recreate and fortify and repeat I love the way you ruin my life but I would love it more if you held my hand Remember when you used to kiss my neck? I never asked for that But it inspired great insomnia Now I sleep more than I am awake, because I know you are not reality

I wish I could love you

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