Oh boy, you have no clue
how I'd **** to be on top of you
and if my mind had gone,
my jeans would be undone

Maybe she doesn't
Maybe she does
It
Doesn't
Matter
Because he does
And
I do
So we aren't.

I can't remember the last time I wrote,
because I have nothing to write about,
no words seem enough, and my thoughts are too little.

My words dried up, as you went away
at first I wrote of how I loved you,
and later of how I hated you,
then of the emptiness I had inside
consuming me, like a beast from a children's story.

Now I only have a few short words that I have to say,
I really really miss you, and I find it strange.