I could write
a thousand worded
poem explaining why
your existence was
important and how
your mind was
irrevocably a painted
picturesque theme.

I could look
you in the eye,
lie and say
I'm happy for
her
I'm happy for
you, but
who am I
to tell her
all the lies
you have undoubtedly
committed?

I cannot deny
the green demons
that lurk in
my eyes
but I can,
although it is not
mine to give,
an apology
and you the will to live.

Instead I can
rebuild walls,
lie to the eye,
turn blue eyes green,
but I cannot
feel sorry for you,
only for me.