This is a pimple poem. Lots of talking about yourself, and lots of cliche, teen angsty. A reader can't be expected to be too interested in all that and a better poem would attempt to engage with the world around the individual play with metaphor etc. Having said that I like the poem's simplicity (a lot of people fall into the trap of writing clunky overwrought tosh which is something you have admirably foregone), I also like that you have a decent sized block of text that reads so well. I think you have a pleasant writing style.

The last three verses are a decent attempt. There are a few problems with the first three though. All the veins, death, soul, pavement cracks, verdant turned grey are a bit clumsy. Im not sure how small balls of dough savor the taste either.

I don't thin the line breaks work here. With couplets there is little point in using enjambment. I would just write the first three couplets as follows: Love is burning you can see it in her eyes. (or Love is burning you can see it in her eyes). Love is burning you can hear it in his sighs. (or Love is burning you can hear it in his sighs). He feels so old beside Her and wonders how can this be?

The 'but' is inappropriate in line 2. You need to get away from the vague naval gazing of days long gone yadda yadda. The poem needs to be more creative more original. Lines like 'We all would be like Einstein trying to perfect/ The game of basketball' are relatively interesting. Needs more of that.

wow you really did a good job on this. i like it a lot

You must be a good teacher if they react in any way at all.

Take the l out of suckling

Haiku is not the skill of getting bogged down in maudlin sentiment in a handful of syllables.

Learn to spell. While you're at it, learn to write good poetry.

I'm sorry about your dad and all, but the poem isn't that good.

You're very right: 'Not good - is my expectation!'

I just hate your poetry.

I love the first two lines. The rest... meh.

I cut my wrists as a philosopher. I used Occam's razor.

I don't really see choking as appropriate. Close to a neat metaphor here.

I can't really see a fire alarm shaking in the wind. The whole smoking and reminiscing about the clang of a door is a bit dull. There are a couple of promising ideas here. The tree that doesn't bud one spring and is removed and the lights that burn out then bringing the poem back to 'maybe the tree will get replaced'. I like that.

put immature before forever, not after. and the word snared isn't right. trapped? stuck?

Rambling and grating at the same time. Congratulations.

decapitation by can opener is a horrific thought. Shame on you.

Bird Flu.