I'm not sure where these words are from,

But I love to see them form,

On walls and paper,

Ink gliding.

So fine.


I don't know where I get this,

I've never been in love.

But this pain pours out

About broken lovers

And I'll never try to stop it.


I don't' understand why you like

These fictions I concoct.

But you seem to,

So I write them,


For you.