The absent minded

descriptions are irrelevant.

I remember staying up until sun rise.

Looking into your teary eyes.

You kept asking the same question, to which I could only wish I had the answer to.

You kept asking why we were here.

I've always thought actions spoke much louder than words.

Which is quite ironic, coming from a poet.

In honesty, I'm nothing but a fool, I'm no poet, what a silly concept.

I called myself a poet anyways, because I loved impressing you. 

I took your feeble fingers and intertwined them with mine.

I practically dragged you out of the house.

Before the sky had the chance to lighten up we screamed.

We screamed at the stars, and the clouds and the people.

We screamed at the dirt, and the ground, and the buildings.

We screamed at the god potentially above us. 

No one else heard a single word, they were too busy continuing the endless cycle.

Sleeping, and eating, and working.

That didn't matter.

That night more was said then done. 

im so unhappy with what i've written, but im not erasing it.

Author's Note

please dont read this.