I think I now understand why you never liked my words or me writing my poetry.
maybe it wasn't what I was doing but what I was thinking that freaked you out.
You wanted me in the moment, always with you, to love life and be true.
Yet my darkness like a cloud of dusty smoke fuffiled our room, our hearts.
Lost in the sticky whicky heart aches, you a saviour, you my grace.
Me a writer with another coffee stain.