My words are bland compared to yours
And that scalds me
like fresh coffee on open skin

You're no cliché though
despite your skinny jeans
and catalogue fashion taste

I listen to your words like a
gentle tinkling of a piano tune
that erupts into a Bach symphony.

The heavy weight of your words
crush me. I fight for breath
and recently I've realised
I'm the only one not strong enough
to hold them up.

So at night I realise
the sky doesn't shine for me.
It shines for boys with a mind
way beyond his time,
For boys whose heart
leaks through the ink
of his pen like
an embedded vein.

Every night I realise my insignificance,
and the death of my poetry
whilst yours
beats strongly;
eternally.

So I'm sorry I write things because I only feel like it, okay?
But not everyone can explode
into a smattering
of stars
and
flames;

Like you do.