The words that sit on my tongue threaten to spill.
Yet I soak them up since I know your ear is not a lending one.
Your words sting; but the absence of them leaves a scar so deep, I couldn't tell you where it ends.
My lungs fill up with pent up aggression, making it hard to catch a breath.
I've begun to drown in my thoughts,
While you gulp them down and watch.
Do you remember me telling you: "I don't drink."
You're the reason that has changed.

A rush of sweetness in my brain
Your sugar lips are so insane

The sight of you just makes me weak
The touch of you is what I seek

The thought of you it makes me high
Away from you I think I'll die

You invade my dreams all day and night
I tried to battle but lost the fight

You loved me once then said no
I truly loved you so let you go

Find another my friends did say
But no other would feel that way

Now I'm old and now I'm grey
With loving memories I smile each day

There's a jukebox,
in my mind or yours,
and it plays my song --
or, maybe, it's for you.
And it says what I
never could say, which is
that I am very sorry.

I thought of how I was --
or how we were --
which was not as good
as we had hoped for.
You protected yourself
from remorse and I was
fearfully unapologetic.

You were, and, probably,
still are a cold *****, and I've
been a ******* for years.
Your nose was so crooked,
it could run for office, and
my head was -- and still is --
really big, which is fitting,
considering my ego, and
ironic, since I'm borderline
mentally-*******-*******.

There's an eroding jukebox
and its so confrontational,
due to feeling inferior,
unrecognized, and without
a responsible purpose.

The music from the machine
flows like rushing thoughts,
and the thoughts say:

I sit and write,
I don't mind you
when I don't know you.

Some people are roots,
meant to help with stability,
but you are a branch,
meant to offer a new view,
but also meant to fall off,
maybe, killing whomever
catches you next.