This is what it is. If you don’t like it, despise it in peace.
I will write this now, and soon share it with you as if you begged me, “oh please!”
I don’t care what you think, this piece is for me.
But it’s sad because I can’t stop thinking of you for its these words you’ll read.

I am an overflow of emotions, but it isn’t unpleasant.
I am not full of anything, my mood is only a crescent.
Can you see what I mean, is the message even present?
Should I scrap this right here like torn wrapping paper from a present?

That is egregious. You’ve already started.
Please don’t abandon me, writer, I don’t want to be discarded.
You’re doing so well, you’re really an artist.
I love how you write me so eager and fullhearted.

Nowhere left to go with this story, so it seems.
A piece of writing, five minutes ago was just a dream.
I can picture you now, encased in a box with so much gleam.
Goodbye to you words with a nonsensical theme.