i always used to call you my james taylor
because you would write these songs
and they were written in
a special sort of ink that you bought
at some convention somewhere and
apparently, the ink was supposed permanent,
we were supposed to be permanent
but it's funny actually, how the word permanent
can disappear on a cold december night when you
happen to have too much to drink
and i happen to be on edge because you're not
acting like my james taylor anymore, instead
you have broken your guitar and you don't go
to conventions anymore and i think the last time
you told you loved me and actually meant it was
a couple of months ago in july, i remember it
because of course, you wrote a song about it, you
always used to write a song about everything but
now you have run out of your ink and i fear
that i have run out of love for the both us,
at the end of the day i was the only one who
made an actual effort but by now i feel like giving up on
you and it's strange to even think like that
because i thought i would rather crash and burn
with you than let you run away but it seems
you are no longer the boy who i love so i guess
i'll be waiting to see your ashes float upon the sea

(h.l.)