This is me writing a poem - or a prose ... Whatever it seems to be to you- you know I don't know meters-- I didn't attend lit class like you did.
This is my pen making love to the paper with words that won't do as much if spoken-- I know you don't want to "hear" from me.
This is my paper having enough space to write on probably everything you wouldn't have time to spend on reading.
This is my paper having a huge space to write on - probably as huge as the space that's been emptied since you told me "I miss you," and I answered "No, you don't."
I know I'm making you puke right now.
If I wasn't here, I'd be there handing you a plastic bag.
If I wasn't here, it could only mean I was there --- because if I wasn't here, it means I could be with you as long as I promised...
as long as you wanted.
And as much as you hate cliches, this is one of them -- because I am just a guy who can't say to your face how sorry I am for not being good at keeping promises.