I like you because you're like me -
full of words, but probably empty
unless someone says otherwise. The lies
we tell seem to comfort others - mine in my eyes,
yours in your pretty enjambments and rhymes
and other silly things built to fill up time.
We don't waste much space, but a lot of thought,
and neither of us smile until good men have fought
and lost for the understanding of our eyes and rhymes and
empty words which fall through their grasping fingers like sand
as we move onto something new.
I'm scared of me because I'm like you.