somehow i always
wrote poems
fantasizing about
the beautiful picture frames
and the way your hair shone

you looked so perfect
(at least that was what i thought)
it was only a facade
just a mere existence

i failed to write
about the way the blood
rushed through your eyes
like fire

i failed to see
how
a silent stream of tears
constantly fell upon your face

i failed to see
the imperfections of a love
so strong

i wrote about the mere
cliche
i failed to see
how the picture isnt as perfect
as it used to be
i thought you changed
but it was my fault all along

(b.d.s.)