Writing this poem
Is as difficult as
Translating my thoughts into accurate words.
Even though I'm not good,
I admit that I try.

I can't say the same about you.

We talk about
The same
Things
Every
*******
Day.

You don't trust me enough to just let me in.

"Friend"

If that is what you are.
Or is that just a title I have,
So that you don't feel so alone?


You are a puzzle.
Yes.
You.

This stupid little game is making me sick.

Every **** day
I find out
I'm missing another piece
Of the bigger picture.
Of you.

I can barely even put the pieces together.

And I'm just wondering if I should leave you

**Unfinished.