I wanted to write,
to spill what I feel,
to see what is there,
and to see what is real
but
You confuddled my senses,
and then broke my pen,
crumpled my paper
and invaded my brain.
I can’t write about you
So what can I do?
I can waffle and brood
and worsen my mood
My poems never rhyme
I never have time
I don’t ever want them to,
either.
but you broke my way of thinking
and now I’m confused.
What do you want?
I wish that I knew
This silence
drives me insane
I don’t feel any pain
just uncertainty
do I rhyme?
or do I not.
Punctuations;
punctuate my thought.
Maybe I punctuate yours.
I wish you’d punctuate
the silence.

an ellipsis,
You’d choose.
wrought with omission.
That’s what I chose, anyway.
It comes after intros,
And after good times,
The hope of more stories
Of line after line.
does it continue from here?
does it ebb and flow?
does it trickle off?
And where does it go?
questions, no answers
and nothing to do.
but.
wait.
and maybe –
go back;
and!
punctuate.
will you em dash to me?
or will I finally see
the footnote disclaimer
“Only sane ones allowed.”
It’s not really my fault
I think that you’d see
if you took the time
to really look at me.
Look at me, still rhyming,
(with the same shit words, too!)
trying to make sense,
in some small way,
of the words in my head
that you’re making me say.
Rawr.
So many words,
but you took them away.
I wanted to write,
because I wanted to know.
and you took away both.
thus, this is woe.
You overestimate, however,
the assumptions you make,
and underestimate me,
what I leave in my wake.
what happens now
is up to you
but I hope that I know soon,
If my desiderata
have many errata
Or is it just
Hakuna Matata?