I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.

i think of you as physical cravings derived from my love of the earth. you lack selfishness and you appear familiar yet unexpected. you're mysterious to my past yet feeble and soft to my present. what will be your physical form?

You left too early to grant me personal wisdom, but left enough of a trail to guide my thoughts. These words are written with you in mind, your eyes seeming to know these words before I write them myself. Your birds and your nature are held behind my eye sockets with the undertones of drugs and fear. King of Lizards.

He was simply searching for eyes, for what is he without? He's scared to show his art.

He opens up in incognito, he lets her know through broken text. The emotions he feels, the way that he talks easily depicts what she does for him. He doesn't want to see her, all he wants is same. She promised friendship but all he got was blame. She's showing off to him, she shows him bones that do not fit, but they were cheap and easy to find. He rests shaken, knowing that he was cheap and easy too.

I tried to be your inspiration.
I left.
You left.
And so did your poetry.