Here I continue to write these never ending poems,
About some guy I never knew,
Someone I'll probably never really care about,
Because apparently:
It's still not out of my system.

I don't know how many more
Verses or lines this will take,
To pour this all away from my insides,
So I'm sorry if your sick
Of me constantly plastering this everywhere.
You're probably wondering how I'm still not over it,
Because every collection that I have,
Nowadays this always seems to get in somewhere.

I even dedicated a whole project to it,
Some kind of twisted devotion because I thought it might help,
They say I've had too much dissociation.
Those contradicting professionals,
Say this isn't good enough either:
I'm just not doing something right,
And my agony is wrong;
I'm not doing traumatic recovery right,
Even though if you ask me, there hasn't been any "trauma".

If you're sick of it,
I understand.
I'm sick of it too,
But keeping this inside,
It just won't do,
But I'm still told I'm not
Releasing my anguish anyway.