Say what you want to say because you might not be able to say it tomorrow or a week from now.  I'm sorry i couldn't help you when you needed it most.  I'm sorry i couldn't say all the right things to make you feel special.  I tried as hard as i could.  I really did.
If there's one thing i know for sure it's that you don't want another pathetic attempt at letting somebody help you.  Especially not from an idiot like me.
If i could knot together my nerves and use them to tie together a pretty bouquet for your valentines day surprise, i would do it before you could even say please.

When i woke up this morning tomorrow was sitting at the foot of my bed. Everytime i roll out from under the covers i can feel the apathy seeping into my chilled skin. Unsteady legs carry me to the front of a full length mirror, and im never sure of what's staring back at me. It seems to be a different person every day.
Yesterday's ***** clothes have made a home on the floor.
Before i go to bed tonight i'll shake tomorrow's hand and get to know him more personally when i wake up.
There's so much i wish i could avoid or put off until the very last minute.
My existance defies procrastination.
Maybe i'll just snooze my alarm for another ten minutes or so...
Apathy has never given me a hard time until now.

Today i kissed my girlfriend and gave her a ****** lip, but she let me kiss her again because i'm all about "righting my wrongs".
I could write a hundred poems about how good she looks in the color red, and i have.
That includes the ******, crimson toothed smile she gave me when i said that i loved her.

God ******, I'm doing it again. I have been sitting at this desk for the last three hours digging for some inspiration. I'm sorry this doesn't sound pretty. It just doesn't come to me like it used to.

Ink doesn't write happiness out too well. My hand writing is messier than ever.

I remember when we would sit on the phone and bull-**** back and forth for hours. You would beg me to read you my latest rough draft, and I would try to keep my voice from breaking where I put too many commas.

You would speak so fast. All I knew how to do was lay back and listen to your silent full teeth smiles.

You are swollen floorboards under my feet and other metaphors I wish I could write down. We were, and still are, so precious. Much less a secret than January.