I think I wrote a thousand poems that you ain’t read,
not one.
I didn’t have the heart to tell you that I was in love.
And now I lose myself in thought,
in thoughts of what once was.
In thoughts of what we could have been if I wasn’t on drugs.
Now the feeling that comes over me, this sentimental rush,
is closing on me fast and I’m abashed and I just tuck
myself away to hide the pain but that’s never enough.
I see your face in window panes but never feel your touch.
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Daniel Steez 