Not all of these lines Are going to rhyme Maybe it's not poetry- But this time, that's fine. I have to write this Even though I'm still not sure how to say it Why do you talk to me? Do you honestly even care? Or is it just somehow better than listening to dead air? I hold no great secrets My philosophies are pieces picked from different puzzles and even I don't know if they really make a picture Or if they do, that it's one you'd want to see. I'm not as interesting As certain people make me out to be Talking with you who shine bright like stars in midnight blackness Just serves to remind me How great my lack is And I can't help but wonder What it is that drives this- Do you need my shadows To remind you how bright your light is? Or are you really trying to cast rainbows into dusty corners Bringing color into places that lack this... I only feel this: I have nothing to offer you. So, please. Leave me be. Don't try to make me think I might mean something to you. Because In the end, I know... *I won't.