pen on paper
ink pulses through your heart
and flows through your veins
as you try to liquify your feelings
for the person who refuses
to give you the time of day

the steady noise of city traffic
to give you perspective
and the calm hum of the radio
to soften your worn skin

you let the smoke from your cigarette linger
so the room doesn't feel so empty
and watch the flames of your candles
curl up into the darkness
as your thoughts float out the open window
and down into the street

nothing is how it was before
but it's too late to go back now

the paper sits on the desk
ready to absorb the day's regrets
but it remains blank

despite the extreme intimacy between
the giver and receiver,
your thoughts refuse to move from your bruised fingertips to the sheet

you've wasted all of your ink on him
shame on you for not realizing sooner