WARNING: THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK IS MENTALLY INSANE

A Weird Poem

I wrote a poem for some reason .-.

Radiant, vibrant, alive.

That's what he is

As I sit in my chair

In the quarter-fourth row

And the lady beside me knows something I don't.

He looks in my direction,

And my heart quickens its pace.

And he's singing to me

As I watch him perform

And I lose myself in the melody

I think of him as the curtain descends,

Signaling the end of the event

And the end of the night.

He emerges from the doors,

And I approach him, hoping to convey what he means to me.

But there, in the quarter-fourth row,

My feet freeze still

As he holds her in his arms

And kisses her face

And twirls around the lady next to me.

I pick up my bag, and my program too.

And I walk to the doors

Not crying

Not wailing

Not a single sound.

And I walk to my car

Parked in the quarter-fourth row

And sit in the seat

And cry

And wail

And weep for the love that I have lost.