You wanted to write her a love poem.
You wanted to make her feel like she was a brick of gold,
Forgetfully delicate and so pure, to hold her
would be the perfect example of effort and reward
But you were never very good at writing those.

So to keep yourself from getting bored, you're writing a poem about yourself.
Its still not a love poem though, You were never very good at writing those.
You are your own worst enemy.
Its pathetic really, denying that she was your lover,
But you are NOT her ******* mother.
So let her dig her own graves.

Now rob them.

Sometimes its hard to be a poets friend, because you know they'll twist your words and spit them back at you.
Their dark sides are the tiny spiders you left in the corner of the room to shrivel up and hang themselves in cobwebs made from old mistakes.
You don't expect them to bite.

Last night you heard her laugh and laughed louder to try to drown out the sounds of your own heart breaking.
Sometimes, it hurts to be strong.
Sometimes the smiles are fake and and the lines are all wrong, but you
Honey, you are an actress
Live in method, mistake stage light for the sun, inhale dust of memories like air,
its not like you can breath without her anyway.

Sometimes, its hard to be your own friend.
Because you are a poet and a poet is a sophist and a sophist is the worst thing you can call a person,
you drown in words and no one wants to save you because it looks like your a competitive swimmer.

Sometimes, its hard to be a poets friend. There are so many of you.
7 billion poets of their own craft. 7 billion.
And she will learn to love all of them. Call them darling.
Hold them away from ledges, pry knives from their hands.
Drain the bath tubs over and over.

She does not need you to feel loved.