Drawn back again to writing love poems,
despite the frustration of wanting to write about anything,
but you.
So tangled within my thoughts,
that the only words that seep into my mind,
relate to desire,
passion,
And so much fucking love.
I’d rather write of nonsense;
rivers of words that sound pretty,
but have a hollow feeling.
Anything is better,
than bleeding out my feelings for you;
vomiting them onto paper,
every time the pen is in my hand.















