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The apocalypse on a rainy Sunday afternoon

The apocalypse on a rainy Sunday afternoon:

nothing should hurt more than

having to hear about God in the sermon then

getting the wrong toy from the McDonald’s drive through


; but then we move

and then you cheat

and then you leave

and then we move again;


It’s harder to capture the rage of words unsaid or swallowed

like the most bitter apple cider vinegar on the tongue of a newly brushed mouth

than to overly analogize it


The fact that I love you matters the least

breaks me like a vase thrown from the third story apartment window

               like the hotness of a sweat-soaked tank top finally coming off

               like the joy of rim-shotting gatorades on a parkside garbage can

               like the otherworldliness of walking to the grocery store in shorts in the rain after dark

it stays in my mind when I move on.



is a junior, Presidential Scholar, and English major at UB. Most of his free time is dedicated to arduously planning his medieval fiction series, but he also writes poetry, short stories, and song.

California Traffic

things aren’t empty anymore
in my mind, crickets chirp outside
but all I hear is your laugh when
there’s nothing new to say.
the night is palpable
and under the lamplight
we found meaning
in something unspoken
until you parted your lips
and made it known.

life isn’t boring anymore
in my day-to-day, cars whiz by
but I’m always doing something
and if I’m lucky, it’s with you.
the days are longer now—
skating the streets of our city
we found meaning
in something unspoken
until you parted your lips
and made it known.

love with you is like california traffic
full-stop on a six lane highway even in the carpool lane
we’ll be here a while.

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