This is way too verbose to be classified as a poem. More of a free write stupid thing full of stupid that i did to punch writer's block in the face.

So I met someone today.

Someone gorgeous. Voluptuous as an anorexic supermodel who pops weight loss pills like M&M's or peanuts at a bar. Someone with a voice as mellifluous as a finely tuned Spanish guitar being played by a handsome Spanish gentleman clutching a rose seductively between his teeth and telling me i look like a star, even though we both know that's clearly far from the truth.

Someone with whom you are so completely enamored with and they're orbit is so strong that you feel as though escape was impossible running on reserve power like you were. But no; escape is not impossible, it's a paradox. You could escape anytime you wanted to, but their magnetic pull is so strong and the intoxicating scent of their ambrosia is so alluring that it's all you can do to not pounce on them and eat their face off like the you were a ravenous predator and she was the closest hunk of meat with a broken leg.

You met her out of the blue of the endless sky that expands beyond your vision, even though; somehow, you feel like you'd known her your whole existence. One minute you're chillin' with your wing man; or wing men, then the next she swoops in and shoots you out of the sky before you have time to eject...top gun style.

You quickly find yourself infatuated with every single positive charge she would care to spark, feeding off their charges like a parasite. Every flirty gesture or heartwarming smile is like a natural high that gets you so lifted, thugs and potheads ask you who you got your stuff from.

She tells you she can be a bitch sometimes

and you say you'll work it out

She tells you she can be unfair at times

You tell her you're OK with taking a few for the team

She tells you she doesn't give in to the lustrous temptations of the body as easily as every other nymph who dares stray too far from her well of purity

Because getting lucky doesn't equate to getting lucky

You say you'll wait for as long as she needs

She turns the tables and asks you what makes you tick off beat

Well nothing really: Besides being prone to accidents, natural disasters, home invasion and war

She takes it all in stride and slides you the digits

Now you two are a thing. You feel like the pimp with the most doe. Purple filling, outer extremities; lightly glazed. You parade yourselves down the street in a fashion that says the gloves are off and you're taking on all comers. You have other alpha males looking on in jealousy thinking to themselves "Damn I'd like to take her home and write a rap song about how fat with a p her backside is." But not before getting a healthy slap to the modesty gland.

The aura emanating from the two of you on your daily jaunt is like a sickening wave of disillusion. The sheer resplendence of your happiness is bright enough to permeate the snootiest hipster's sunglasses and render him a driveling mass of tight jeans and spilled Starbucks coffee.

Next thing you know you're taking her everywhere she wants to go, doing everything she wants to do; you sort of feel like you never have time to yourself anymore. And when you're out with your friends and they tell you they want shotgun, you say no, but she just stands aside; because she don't care; them other dudes gotta pay a fine, but her; she's got a ticket to ride.

And at one point ten thousand leagues below the heady haze of regret and loathe for this symbiotic creature you called a significant other, you realized the cauldron has amassed too much bubble, the party was at its limit and the bouncer just finished off his cigarettes. Your with the band? I don't think so...Anyway just last week you went out to see a movie, if only to temporarily quell the insatiable hunger of her spirit as you sat in the stagnant silence of the theater, completely bereft of talking or the awkward glances that were sure to be exchanged if you were suddenly emboldened and decided to stare in her general vicinity.

It was a strangely addicting tinge of catharsis, not having to deal with her...overwhelming personality as you became the voyeurs to a 2 hour episode of escapism. You wished the psychedelic throe of colors and deluge of wonderfully orgasmic feelings would last forever, seeing the beginning credits come alive on the screen made you feel a eerily similar pang of incipience. Watching things come to fruition on that screen made you realize just how pathetically blanch your life was in comparison, and it made your heart leap in your chest. Seeing that action hero leap and dance around the screen in lolloping bounds, fighting crime, saving dames, and gaining more recognition that one human being can stomach before becoming the world's most famous celebrity implosion to date. The movie kept you sated, kept your feet propped up precariously upon cloud 9 until the end credits rolled, then it tore you down faster than the those four, plaster and dry-wall laden walls keeping the insane from having a welcome to the block party in your head. Because you knew eventually The lights would flicker back on and you would suddenly find yourself face to face with the sheer abhorrent nature of the demon you'd planned this evening to escape from, boring holes into your very soul even when she wasn't looking in your direction.

And yet, it's funny. Amidst the acrid cover of self denial and the dogged persistence of this so called monster, there were minute inklings of something you could only describe as need. As much as you loathed her; as much as you despised her, as much as you wanted to rupture your eardrums with ignorance at the very mention of her name; every single shred of derisiveness you harbored toward her was somehow nullified by the sad fact that you couldn't survive a day without her.

She was quite the dubious poison; that one. You could feel her sloshing around maliciously inside your gut, slowly deteriorating your vital organs until they resembled raisins. But at the same time, through some sadistically sick turn of events, you realized that you actually enjoyed the pain. You enjoyed the feeling of her rooting around inside of you and occasionally disrupting the flow of things, because that meant she was still there.

As to why she was there, you knew why all along. She was there to be a guide of sorts. A fearless adventurer spearheading the arduous journey to find the last vestiges of humility buried between your breasts and your balls; bring them to the surface, and wave it in your eyes because it was made abundantly clear that you were too dull and full to the brim with banality to decipher the nomenclature of feelings.

She would never understand why you constantly chose to hinder her advances. She was only trying to keep you standing; keep you breathing. Because she the only one out of the two of you that understood just how good you had it. No matter how often you tried to jilt and reject her advances. She was merely trying to remind you not to let nihilism overtake your intrinsic need to belong. Because you had what every zombie and rotted skeleton wishes they had. And she didn't want you to forget that...