SUMMERTIME ↣ NICK ROBINSON

17.

DISCLIAMER: I DO NOT OWN THIS POEM, ALL RIGHTS GO TO THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR, WHO SADLY, I COULDN'T FIND ANYWHERE.

I keep writing about you

they tell me my words are beautiful

I don't know why

maybe because they're written for you

you're beautiful

but what they don't know

what you don't know

is I stare at this blank fucking paper

and all I feel is rage

anger and frustration

because I write down these things

and it never comes close to what I feel

if actions could be translated to words

I would write me shouting in my fucking car

because your favorite song came up on my

god damned Pandora station again

I would write me standing in the shower

while the scolding water burns my skin as I

try to think of the exact moment I lost you

then I would write me shutting off the water

in total defeat

because I realized I never even had you

I would write how my eyes burn as I

continue to stare at the god damned ceiling

at 3 am missing you

being up that late was only fun when you were around

I wish you were still around

I don't even know how to fucking end this

there's no poetic way to say I feel like

fucking shit.