I'm frustrated
with myself
No, better yet with time
Or rather, my count
the amount of times you have crossed my mind

Whether lyrically or in theory
I've imagined our make-up
A love that would spur from 3 simple words
and like a dream
I'm awakened
wiping my eyes and stretching
not fully realizing that my mind's fabrication
has no relation
to my present situation
which consists of
my determination
to get you to accept our relations

I'm frustrated
with myself
No better yet with time
or rather my count
the amount of times
I've uncapped my pen
to let it dance along my pages
yet my hand even as it tires
working to depict my heart's desires
but when I look back at what I've created
all I see is you
subliminally written across my pages
hidden behind poetic rhymes
I hate it
I know deep down its truth

I'm frustrated
with myself
no better yet with time
or rather with my count
the amount of times
I lay my head down to sleep
and can't help but think
of the nights you spent with me
those of tranquility
where I would lie awake to listen
to you blink
Those nights where you forgot your oath to discretion
and showed if only for a second
your affection
The rub of my cheek
or my hands yours to keep
as I pretended to sleep
daring not move
fearing your retreat

I'm frustrated
with myself
No its not time
for he is a figment of my imagination
personified
that I use to describe
distant memories
which still seem
to occupy my mind

When in fact its my own heart
which beats distantly in my past
as if that
will resurrect
my grasp
on another we cherished
my mind pleads the memories to cease
because my time spent on what was
shreds my peace

But I cannot help but admit
that my frustration
or better yet Time
or rather my count
those times
seems to forever briefly
brighten my day