If I tipped myself over and poured myself out,
filling you like a glass,
would you believe that I had it at heart?
Would you believe in 'us'?
Nothing I do seems to matter at all.
I look on. You look away.
If I stopped building that bothersome wall,
would you decide to stay?
I'm such a fool. Always thinking too much.
Maybe there's nothing there.
Call me delusional. Call it a hunch.
Maybe you just don't care.
Maybe I seem like a troublesome cloud
raining hard on your parade.
If I cracked open and blurted it out,
what would you tell me then?
Would you dismiss me? Pretend that it's fine?
Maybe you don't give a damn.
I can shut up, hide my feelings and lie.
Is that what you'd prefer?
Sure you would. Honestly, I understand.
I'd better just give up.
Rather be dealing with problems at hand.
Rather reboot asap.
Paper endures every stab of my pen,
lines written over in blood.
Paper forgives me, 'cause paper's a friend.
Paper's my friend.
You're not.
August 2019