If I hid your name in every poem, would you notice me then,
Or should I scrape your veins as I trace these words with my pen?
Could I erase all the mistakes that appear when my hands shake,
Or would I just smudge the ink into a more noticeable stain?
I wish I knew terms that could shatter your mind blind,
So, when you hold me in your eyes that little voice won’t reply
“Good try; Better luck next time. Take five, for the rest of your life.”

-SLuR