You know,
I thought about writing about you today...

Even though you don't deserve the art
that my words could turn you into.

I cannot even lie to myself and turn anything about you
into something poetic.

You see, my vocabulary can depict dying, pain, abuse,
and self-destruction into something beautiful.

But this is the first time that my descriptions
depicted someone as nonsense or nonexistent.

I may be able to lie to myself...
but my pen is incapable of such deception.

Poetry is clarity and yet,
even my poetry couldn't make you clear...

Maybe because...
you were never here in the first place.