I’m not sure when you became the only thing I could write about.
A stranger who no longer knows
who I am.
I’m tired of letting the ghost of you move my pen and beckon my tears.
I want to slip you into every poem I write
but I know it’ll only leave me stuck
with words I can no longer read
Apr 25, 2022
Apr 25, 2022 at 6:02 PM UTC
I’m not sure when you became the only thing I could write about.
A stranger who no longer knows
who I am.
I’m tired of letting the ghost of you move my pen and beckon my tears.
I want to slip you into every poem I write
but I know it’ll only leave me stuck
with words I can no longer read