You're like a bad poem,

sounding pretty

but saying nothing.

And I'm hating myself

for loving you.

You're not even there.

Like the sunlight through the window,

I can't hold you, feel you, taste you.

Like the ghost inside my mind,

I want you but can't have you.

So I'm caught in hopeless daydreams,

desperate they'll come true,

but nothing's real;

it's all a lie,

particularly you.