I'm Sorry

I would like to say
sorry,
for treating you this way

Sometimes I feel
a. confused – cracked, crazy
that my room is full of
pictures, photos, philosophies, psychoanalyses,
memories, and memos
but your square slumps, lonely
against the left side wall
b. stressed – scared, stupid
because every time our eyes meet
and our greetings float over
countless heads and pizza slices

I fear your parting thoughts go something
like this:
what. a. bitch.
But I do not want to make excuses.

Every passing day
runs too quickly
into the next,
counting down only gets worse and worse
until we are no longer friends,
or even acquaintances

As I increasingly hear that
- it will surely snow tomorrow -
my apology runs the risk of never
descending upon your ears,
or anyone else's.

And I just have to tell someone that
I am
sorry

You Treated Me Well

I must say, you treated me well.
roses clipped, dressed and gently placed
just for me.

hearts: pink, pressed, glued and smiling
just for me.
kinda.

messages sent from feathered fingers
tracing skin and freckles and -
flying fingers over keys
never played the chords just right.

instead:
i waited.
i waited.
i was dissapointed.

Still, I must say, you treated me well.
you never cheated, never yelled, never lied,
but I must say,
you could have treated me better.