I could write
I could write and write and write until I use up all of the words,
but it wouldn’t bring you back.
I could cry until tears aren’t able to form anymore,
but you’d still be who you are, and I can’t change that.
I could move mountains, swim across the sea, carve your name across my chest,
and you still wouldn’t want me.
It is what it is, and it’s become what it’s supposed to be.
I could speak to you, look you deep in the eyes,
tell you what I’ve told you before, thousands of times,
but you have what you want, and I have to find out what I need.
I could write and write and write.
I’m tired of writing.
(2010)
