And, still holding a torch, listening to cigarettes after sex,

Because, I think, even if they
Don't want me, they'd
Want poetry written
About them, and
I've built this blue
House for you, in my
Hollowed thing too, just to know

You'd cut me, if you'd have the chance
To prove yourself better to the rest, but
I never cared what anyone else thought, and, you had everything to gain, okay, But, we were there,
Always, writing poetry, hearing the sounds you didn't want me to hear. In sheets at night. Watching dawn so you didn't have to