It is not true that nothing matters anymore
but I have spent four hours pacing,
Beyond shock,
Contemplating,
There is no time left for our wasting.
These were my words,
My craft,
I fed my soul to parchment,
Long since I was parched
I emptied out my heart to this unimportant paper,
Never loving, never touching,
Thinking I would have time later,
Tell you later,
Empty words, empty paper,
And always later.
Time runs out, I had forgotten
Books can be burned, the pages rotting,
Twisted from their one time wish
For a poem lasts little longer than a kiss,
They do not matter next to this,
It is only you, not them I miss,
Without you I do not exist.
Everything for one more kiss,
And everything destroyed by this.
It came too swiftly in the end,
To lose my heart in such a friend,
So simply pace and try to write
And drink and weep into the night.
Wrapped in this hurt I am contrite,
I did not love you as I might.
In this pain I am now alone
And only need you because you’re gone,
Burning need,
Broken poem,
Always and forever gone.
