I was left as an open book,
to the entrance of your very sorry state of consciousness.
The blame feels much better when directed at somebody else.
I danced with you by pizzerias,
over the Autumn when nothing was to fear.
Rose-tinted lenses fueled my perceptions.
During my most severed days,
I still feel your chestnut stare;
Lingering over me,
unbeknownst to my own.
It is fair to claim that you made my as I am.
Sadly on my own,
pizzerias have no definite significance.
I am just ******* dazed,
and angry.