in seven years my skin
will finally have lost the sensation of your touch
it will forget how you felt
and how it misses you so much

in seven years my name will have changed
and you'll have given someone else yours
and i won't remember what it felt like
or why your name is scribbled in the back of my drawer

in seven years i'll look back
and it won't be to remember
you.

feeling like a cigarette
when it hits the pavement

I wish I could be funny,
So you would laugh at me.
I know I am far from exceptional
and I really hate rhyming.
But this poem is for you,
and it is coming from me.
Well, coming from my heart,
to speak more specifically.
I know a heart is just an *****,
some ****** beating tissue.
But it's the only ***** I'd use,
to describe how much I miss you.
Like I said,
I hate rhyming.
So you better give me props,
Oh, by the way
I don't mind your smelly socks.