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( okay this is just scribble done very early in the morning... i MIGHT......MIGHT, fix it up later)


your poetry is killing me, each line and word i read, brings me back to me and you ( back to what used to be...). Each silent night I'd hold you tight and feel your cold hands folded. Discouraging words from passers by " you could do better than that"... Kiss me now and I'll forget the pains that always sting me, the poetry that is killing me, you write of death , sorrow , and longing to see, what used to be you and me... but realy must i be forced to think of you each restles night of things that wont happen .... kills me each line and word that i read , assuring me that what we had is now dead......