I'll sit here,
Encased in the night
Before the sun of my screen,
And look over my shoulder
Every now and again
Because I can't stop now,

I'll write another
******* love poem
Like it means something to me
Like these words spilling
Like broken glasses
Soaking this mangle of a poem
Can actually say anything about how I feel.

I could absolutely alliterate
And methodically metaphor
Like a truck stuck in mud
But you see
That's all I'll ever be,
Just stuck in this muddled mind of mine,

Grasping at the ghost of us
That does not exist in any
Tangible reality,
And so I'll write another
******* love poem,
And someone will swoon
And clap their hands together
And tell me how lucky you are
To have someone like me,

When in the scheme of things,
It's not how I feel.

It's not even close to how I feel
Because how I feel
Cannot be articulated through some
Random array of 26 letters,
26 effortless, meaningless symbols
Slapped together without caution,
Stitched together with some form
Of a string of tears I cannot cry
Because the real me is trapped inside you see,

He's trapped up there,
Locked in a rusty cage with
Nothing to read
And nothing to sing
And nothing lovely to smell
When that rotted core of a sun
Beams over whatever fleshy horizon
Exists up there,
You see I'm not sure how to say it
Without making this some
God forsaken love poem
That's just like all the others,

But I'm trapped up here,
And only you
Give me hope
That I'll ever get down in one thinking piece.