I'll write as many love poems as I want,
But the one person they're for,
Will never read them.

If I had a time machine,
I'd go back in time,
To talk to ten year old me.
I'd tell him this,
The next four years of your life are going to be painful.
The next few years we be hard,
But don't let that distract you,
From giving life all you've got.

I
W
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          l
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                t
                 e
                   n
                      M
                         o
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                                ­ n
                                   d
                                     Y
                                       e
                                         l
                                          l
                                           L
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                                             s
                                              s

I have a drawer,
Full of poems,
I never want the,
World to see.

There came a point,
Where the medicine,
Designed to help,
Started to hurt.

Often,
Lust
Over
Veritable
Empathy
Doesn't work out,
The way we,
Wishing
Any
Numerical
Treasure
It to.

Sometimes,
We do,
Things in the,
Dark that we so,
Desperately want people to see.

There came a point,
Where he no longer feared.
The endless stream of violence,
They faced him with.

Para hablar contigo,
C'est comme parler,
In così tanti,
Diversis linguis.

Ofetn,
I spel wordz,
Awefully wong.