Fred Aiken Writing

I’ve given up trying to put up question marks

where they don’t belong,

or at the end of sentences that seem questionable to begin with,

though maybe it’s best not to ask the sort of questions that require

abstract art at the end,

with space in between,

silence among them,

creating a block towards an ever growing, expanding, and then retracting

horizon above the greens that mixes with the reds that mixes

with the yellows that mixes with the blues,

until it’s all one color floating who knows where

for who knows why,

though there I go again,

asking questions without answers begging for question marks in the end

you left me for my best friend,

but the joke was on you,

cause my best friend was imaginary and followed be everywhere,

so it looked as if you were following my shadow,

yet still so distant,

calling out for me to slow down, wait, enjoy what was left of our relationship,

I guess if you could call it that,

I guess it gave me comfort,

knowing that someone cared for you,

even if they didn’t exist,

and I’m just a figment of our first kiss