I could tell you about my life, but that would ruin the mystique.
Poets seem to pride themselves on being dark and deep.

See beneath the surface,
and the first thing you would think:

Here's the epitome of failed friendship -
definitely one I shouldn't keep.

a forgotten face disguised as a false promise, i cannot stop my eyes from staring at a picture of you: i am holding onto you with every last breath.

i am trying so hard not to burn under the amber gaze of the ring that you used to wear as you traced my skin with your fingers and from your eyes fell snow and you whispered
i love you, i love you, i love you.

the worst thing about this all, is that if, by some miracle, you were to return i would carve your name into the heavens and repent all of your sins because i still ache for you in an unforgotten, unimaginable way.