She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.

For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry.

When did you stop caring? he asked.
When did you start noticing? she replied.

Every letter
that she types;
every keystroke
that she strikes-

To spell your name
again and again,
is all she ever
wants to write.

There is safety in numbness–
there is solace
in sleep.

A bird who hurt her wing,
now forgotten how to fly.

A song she used to sing,
but can't remember why.

A breath she caught and kept -
that left her in a sigh.

It hurts her so to love you,
but she won't say goodbye.

I drew him in my world;
I write him in my lines,
I want to be his girl,
he was never meant as mine.

I drew him in my world;
He is always on my mind;
I draw his every line.
It hurts when he's unkind.

I drew him in my world;
I draw him all the time,
but I don't know where to draw the line.