You walk left as i continue to write,
You leave because you say it controls my mind.
I know I need to find time,
put the pen down, talk, and just recline.
I write about our relationship,
how we grow ever distant,
not knowing that this writing is the main cause of it.
You shake your head, because you can see the irony of it.
I'm arrogant, I write as if you are the main problem,
too blind to see that every night, you fall asleep with your pillow case sodden.
Finally i realize the errors of my way and put down the pen,
But it's too late because you've already left.
Now i feel a poem creeping up inside of me, i have to get it out because I'm feeling rotten.
I go to sit down, look for the pen, but realize it's no longer a pen, it's only a problem.
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