We see words lined up pretty,
spelling out sorrow.
Like beautiful crying ladies
we want to help
but also want to touch.
I never know when or how
to express that I am here for a poet.
Love, is it ever just a poem to you?
Or do you actually mean to slit your wrists?
Is writing the only way you escape?
Should I stop and whisper empathy
or should we just continue
to admire
each other's talent?