Preface: I wrote some poems. I let the woman who inspired them read them. Haven't heard from her.

Did I do something wrong? Did I say something bad? Was it the poems? Was that too much for you to read? I didn't write them for you (Well, not entirely exactly.). Yes, I thought about you then I wrote them. Were you - are you disturbed by them? By in fact, my feeling about you? I think about going down to see you to explain myself. To get your thoughts about it. Just to see you, period.
Why haven't I heard from you? I really truly hope that I didn't do anything wrong by you - to you. I know my feelings and poems were - are unwarranted, but I needed to tell you know. I needed to tell you know about the poems. I needed to tell you.
Please tell me if I did anything wrong. Please keep talking to me.
I'm afraid of you - of you telling me that you don't want to keep talking to me. Or see me. And that is something that I don't want to happen.
You really don't have the time to reply. But if  you do have the time to reply. You're sorting out your thoughts about it - about me.

you always had the knack the inspiration
the right karma
never had to ask for permission
just did what you liked
saw your fire burning bright
your talent as a guiding light
then you came crashing down to reality
saw ten million other
stars as bright
and you had that breakdown
took you seems
a thousand years
a long walk through
the fields you missed growing up
to gain that courage again
to try
to make your destiny live
make a place
in this cruel world again
but you perservered
and life is now
your playground
again

Death is lying
in the ditch
like a hubcap
that went
rolling down
a dark road
along with
the stench
of a black cat
that crossed
my path
still following
me until
luck will have
its final say
so I've got to
keep moving
while the night
shines it's bright
lights speeding
up behind me.

Red ships sailed for the
Harvest moon , demons led
council in red coals , in wavering
cold air , for a moment burnt pine shared the sun ,
crackling songs were slowly sung ,
evening zephyrs corralled white smoke in a tornadic stranglehold atop nights wooden pyre* ...

Stuck in blue
Sea glass glasses skewing my vision
Here, on this road is a division
A decision,
I'm not ready to make
I'm sitting on the tip of the cliff,
Not ready to jump

Mad at humanity
Lost all hope for sanity
How many people have failed me
And you say "try again"?
Oh heart, you optimistic fool,
You can't have everything you want...

On this journey
I once believed in magic
But I lost my book of spells
And now I'm here, all alone
And I must vouch for myself
On this journey.. on this cold, treacherous road

I've lost all my passion,
My ability to imagine
I've given up but I'm still scared of they're judgement
I don't want to live their lives of mediocrity
Why do it if you dont love it?