to love a poet
is to know immortality
for your name
will never cease
to flow from her lips

and she will forever hold
her pen gently
for her hands are scarred
with remnants of you

you were blue
and i am yellow
you liked the way
i brightened rooms
i thought we could
make a home run true
but no winning evolved
while our garden bloomed
for as my love for you grew
it expanded way beyond you

and it wasn't long
before you knew
exposing your true
shades of gray
when you touched me
but you looked her way
you decided olive green
just didn't look good on you

i have always preferred
green over purple
and you once told me
you felt the same
but that one night
where you both lied
you chose the latter
you took her side

and i’m not sure
if it's because
she appeared shiny red
and i was becoming
a worn out yellow
but it shouldn’t have mattered
because you plucked me first
and you and i both know
that's not what you do
to flowers when you love them
you were supposed to water me
but you showered her instead

and now i am left here
trying to heal the paper cuts
i got from the countless times
i ran in circles trying
to catch your racing heart
but it barely ever
grazed my fingertips
and each time i looked down
to see what was left
of you and me

i was struck in the face
with the sad reality
that we had never even
made it off of home base

No more poems, thank you;
I think that I'm done.
My notebook's half empty,
And apathy's won.

Please turn off the music;
My songs are all sung.
I think the night's over,
Although it's still young.

No more words, I beg you;
Just slice off my tongue!
They're just wasted air,
From a withering lung.

I've no more left to say;
Time to blot out the sun.
My notebook's half empty,
And apathy's won.