I write in italics, things that I think in puzzles, I mix up words and I try to fit them in, And I draw lines, and paragraphs I define, Only to join dots, and colour outside the figures, And not make any sense, Yet I keep scribbling and scratching, Round and round, over and again, Because my art has lost meaning, Every since I wrote your name.
I juggle and struggle, in painting a happy picture of my face, on my face. I lose the pink and red, and I cover it up with white, and I over do the black, And it drips down my cheeks, every time I cry, So I rub it all in and run back from where I came, Only to succumb to the letters, That say your name.
Happy faces have stopped making me happy, And faith has lost way in the dark, So I close my windows and lock up my door, And I rub the floors clean of every mark. The flowers are dead, the water is all dried up, And I'm suffocating ever since I chose to stay, So I curl up in my blanket, hoping for a miracle, Ranting incessantly, your name.