Sometimes you ask me, "what have you written about me?"

I answer honestly,

Nothing, nothing yet,

And strangely enough it's true,

Not once have I rambled on about what I love about you

(The way you promised never to leave)

Or ranted about what I hate about you

(The way you lie and lie and lie)

Or scribbled something dumb about how I feel when I'm with you

(It's electric, and I feel more alive than ever)

None of my silly, cliché, I'm-so-in-love poems have been for you

Do you think they should have been?

With you it started off as moments stolen in the back of dark rooms,

After way too many drinks.

When did it go from that to this?

I still remember walking with you that night

How you said, "I love you,"

And then laughed and said

"Just kidding."

What am I supposed to think?

I don't know what you want from me.

I know that next time you ask me what I've written about you

I won't answer honestly.

I'll lie and say "nothing."