He

has this little journal; It’s part work orders, part rhymes he’s written. He’s got this talent I’ll never forget. I know we could make something beautiful if we worked together. He was my reminder and my inspiration to pick up a pen after so many years of forgetting that I could write. I wrote this for him today, after waking up in my room that undoubtedly reminds me of him. It isn’t too great, kinda cheesy. But I was trying to say something without just writing him a letter. Whether he ever reads it or not is beside the point.

I don’t want your money, baby.
Don’t want you to try and save me.
I just want you next to me,
No one else I’d rather see.

You can call me names
Yeah, call me stupid,
Selfish, lame, and somewhat wounded.

Be mean to me,
I know you love it.
You know I can take it,
Won’t be above it.

I’d let you hurt me,
Til I can’t breathe no more,
If that’s what it takes,
To settle this score.

I won’t say I love you,
‘Cause “love is evol,”
But I will say I want you,
It’s time for a refill.

He wouldn’t actually hurt me, but yeah. I know he’d get what I meant if he read it. But I wrote this because I said I would give him his space. I’m really, really lame.

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