to Marcy Howard
There were things, which we, both said, and those things, were very sincere,
And though, you try, to hurt me, they’re words, I can not hear,
Both of us, made mistakes, but we didn’t, use our time, well,
Instead, of reaching, for each other, we reached out, for this hell.
You tell me, that the things, I give, mean, nothing to you,
But that’s, just, a transparent lie, the opposite, of what you do,
For the stains, on my letters, are dampened, by our tears,
Wrapped inside, our mistakes, tempered, by our fears.
You, can question, everything, but, there’s something, we both know,
We both found, something more, and all it does, is grow,
Maybe, It’s hard to believe, that someone, really cares,
With a depth, that’s hard to see, and it’s something, we both share.
My future, though, you don’t agree, lives, inside your eyes,
As your efforts, show, it’s real, and prove, what lives, inside,
Who is it, that, you try to convince, that everything, is dead,
While, the truth, is running around, somewhere, in your head.
There is nothing, you can do or say, that will change, how I feel,
And all, your efforts, to deny, just prove, that it’s real,
I guess, it’s hard, to accept, that a mistake, doesn’t mean, it’s dead,
It lives, in both, our minds and hearts, not in the words, we’ve said.
It’s true.I found you.