I can't speak with you
because all that come is argument.
But when I try ignoring you,
I'm, still left uncontent.
I make apologies and eulogies
for the past of you and me.
But alack the day, alas
I'm still the one who bleeds.
Quite honestly I should hate you,
it's reason, simple truth.
We're squares and circles
even in our youth.
But the idea of you and who were
interests me so much,
I can't forget who you can be
so to intangibility, I clutch.