I'm frustrated with myself No, better yet with time Or rather, my count the amount of times you have crossed my mind
Whether lyrically or in theory I've imagined our make-up A love that would spur from 3 simple words and like a dream I'm awakened wiping my eyes and stretching not fully realizing that my mind's fabrication has no relation to my present situation which consists of my determination to get you to accept our relations
I'm frustrated with myself No better yet with time or rather my count the amount of times I've uncapped my pen to let it dance along my pages yet my hand even as it tires working to depict my heart's desires but when I look back at what I've created all I see is you subliminally written across my pages hidden behind poetic rhymes I hate it I know deep down its truth
I'm frustrated with myself no better yet with time or rather with my count the amount of times I lay my head down to sleep and can't help but think of the nights you spent with me those of tranquility where I would lie awake to listen to you blink Those nights where you forgot your oath to discretion and showed if only for a second your affection The rub of my cheek or my hands yours to keep as I pretended to sleep daring not move fearing your retreat
I'm frustrated with myself No its not time for he is a figment of my imagination personified that I use to describe distant memories which still seem to occupy my mind
When in fact its my own heart which beats distantly in my past as if that will resurrect my grasp on another we cherished my mind pleads the memories to cease because my time spent on what was shreds my peace
But I cannot help but admit that my frustration or better yet Time or rather my count those times seems to forever briefly brighten my day