last night i picked up my pen
and wrote the truest masterpiece
of my nineteen years and ten months
it was art and not one bit fodder

when i finished with that miracle
i looked and saw that it was good
because for the first time i found
that i really wanted you to be happy

the lines were long, but the reading
in between was longer and deep
it smelled of pain and heartache to you
but it tasted like letting go to me

and maybe it means i've started
down the long road to recovery
put my foot on the path to start
my way towards not being lonely
but you'll never see it
this one's for me