I'm trying to find words to write poems again,
yet my fingers refuse to ink the paper and my
mind keeps going in different directions.
That's how I feel about you,darling,
how I can't seem to touch the surface
of you and how my fingers don't glide
over your warm skin and how my words will never
penetrate you again.

I often think about release and taking you with me,
but how selfish would that be to have you taken
from this beautiful world,because
maybe your life is better than mine so you
constantly write about it.
Unlike me you find every word to say and
your brain has no road blocks while mine is
under construction, it's my abduction,
these papers are my life,
it's creation, these poems are my type.
I can never seem to write a happy poem
because things just aren't happy.

I've been trying to write a simple poem
and I just can't grip
the thoughts or words or phrases
while you have no trouble doing it.

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