I cannot place the words inside my heart;
They speak without the language of my mind.
And no translator ever faced a part
The difficulty of this certain kind.
I think my spirit longs for something warm;
But that is too abstract a feeling, true:
Perhaps it longs for shelter from the storm...
I doubt it likes all that it's been put through.
My soul has far too much to just express;
It must be a headache to the list'ners.
Its potency is void to the masses.
O, how my heart moans; it is prisoner.
     Distant it is feeling; words cannot say
     Just how far my heart has been pushed away.

Why do you even try to say my name?
What will you ever gain from painful sounds?
I do believe your love was all a game,
Not real enough to lift you off the ground.
Why do you even try to call me back?
I know you only want to calm your soul;
It aches and feels conspicuous and black,
Because you've been despicable, you know.
What could you reach by saying you were wrong?
I know that well, and you do, too; so why?
It drags my heart down crowded halls so long:
My body your words cause to want to die.
     How long will all this pain continue on?
     The truth is, all I feel for you is gone.

You left
and all that remained
were memories that lingered
in the back of my eyes
and a tingle in my nose
that waited for the worst moment
to pounce.

He is a poet
And everybody knows it
Though sometimes they can be a little hard;
He gives them wordings
As easy as is speaking
And does it with pride and truly without regard.