but for you I'd wait
my fingers dancing over the pen and paper
I feel the fabric under my hands,
calloused lines tracing the pulp and fiction
soft, skating and this is all, this is all I can give you
no more, no less than words on a page, that
I can write late into the night and click clack
that you won't hear, no one will hear
no one is here, not even I, my spoken words have
crossed all lines, have erased boundaries
and have erased the thoughts and feelings so there is nothing left
I can give you nothing, I have not thought
a secret too private to write, I have not written
a thought too secret to remain private,
for you I'd wait- but I cannot get by and it is an endless cycle
of who I am and who I am pretending to be-
for as soon as the words fall out of my mouth,
they lose all meaning, and you will never know me
you will never know who I am, for it is gone,
even this is gone, I am not here,
and I will be waiting forever for you to find me.