I love the playoffs in the sky;
Its where the popular kids make their name.
Bottled, her lips taste
Like red lightning
The last day we saw each other.
She kissed my neck, but not hard enough:
Alice is in the hospital,
Surrounded by the weeping offspring
She is still going to die
Of stage four cancer.
There are many things that die
Which go unseen from the stage
Without a jot- The Abyssal Planes
Hold a multiplexed neighborhood
Where her legs never sweated
As they passed me by
Like peppermint candy
Swizzled by my honey’s lips.
If she doesn’t love me,
I should not cry,
For there is someone she will love
Who will bear her children to see
Her out one day
In the afternoons when I skipped school,
And it is my fault I was never good
At equations of this certain kind.
All I know is I have seen her from afar,
And loved her as I should,
Sweltering like a mirage in short shorts
Before the curtain fell
Without an encore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem