I wrote you a poem

I wrote you a poem,

with butterflies inside,

it was in the library,

along with my life.

 

I wrote you a poem,

with a phantasmagoric touch,

and I don’t even remember it now,

but sure I know,

I can’t write a similar one.

 

I wrote you a poem,

even though you’re unreal,

even though you’re a ghost,

but you won’t ever read it,

because that will hurt me the most.

 

I wrote you a poem,

that I can swear,

but I ripped it off,

the way you did with my gasps of air.

 

You won’t ever know I wrote you a poem,

since the words that are on it I threw them away,

because it would ache more in my mind if you’re gone,

than it will in your heart if you stay.

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