I sat on the cold floor of my bedroom somewhere around 3am

Why is it always some ungodly hour with poets?

Anyway, I sat on my cold bedroom floor
Scribing of words about you, of course...

...They're always about you...

...Scribbles of words
Crumpled up into *****
Because nothing ever seems to come out right
The words don't fit

Your beauty
The depth of my love for you
How I ache for the loss of you...

...How you're the worst person that could ever exist for sending me to this hell of emotion on my bedroom floor at 3 o'clock in the morning.

Start again...