I wrote a poem a while ago About how all my poetry is the same now. Because of you. And here's another dose of repetition To gulp down my dry throat. I guess this is how I know it's love, And if I'm in love, my poetry has jumped ship, Drowned in an ocean filled with tears That I don't even remember shedding. I don't know if my poetry is any good, But I know that I can translate emotion into words, And that's something to be accomplished, If I never know how to do anything else. See, I'm not good at loving you. I don't know how to be who you want, But it's too late, My heart's already relinquished its grip on poetry And now it constricts around your soul Like a snake devouring its prey...but in a beautiful way(?) I can write poetry, but I can't love you, It'll first be the death of poetry, then the death of loving you. Please don't do this to me, I grip pens, I don't know how to safeguard hearts. Here, take my last poem and leave, it's about you again. They're all about you now.