It's been years but you still call me your angel
It's been years but you still talk to me the same
It's been years and you've had other girls
Why do you still miss me?
Was it the way I made you feel like you could do anything
Was it the way I giggled when you called me silly
Was it that I'd look at you like you were the only person in the room
Or was it my smile in the morning?
Well whatever it was it must still be here
Why else would you keep coming back to me?

Why is it so hard to write poetry when I'm happy?
When I'm content?
When I'm gloriously in love?

Is it a requirement that I be in rage, in sorrow, in pain?
Drunk? High? Comatose?

Can I just not find the right words to describe my feelings?
Or maybe I don't need this outlet when I'm happy. I don't need to cut my emotions from my chest and attach them to words. I want my emotions here with me.

It's not love it's not passion
It's two insecure people trying
To lean on each other until they **** themselves
It's not cute it's not healthy
It works but for how long?
At least they're finally trying but in the end
We all end up alone

I look down on you without pity
The view is breathtaking from up here
I could never abuse you, use you, confuse you
But I will spit on you and pull your hair.
It's one thing to push you around
It's another to call you mine
It's one thing to kiss you on the nose
It's another to fill you with wine.
You beg you plead you kiss my feet
I come down from the sky's above
Because even though I call you my pet
I do it out of true love