Renegade

I have new questions,

           ones I thought I'd never ask,

like where are my letters of l o v e?

remember the ones of the past?

Because I p o u r e d myself onto those,

              without thinking that it would be my last

But I'm writing these for someone new now,

       for someone who will appreciate my mask.



Though I still hold that piece of art,

somewhere in my documents,

                   though i shan't ever open it,

    for it would tear me a p a r t,

    but I do still wonder,

if you did ever read it again,

because that would mean you remember,

              that time you cried from the marks of my pen.



Remember the fairy lit room?

where we exchanged my love of cards,

                 I was sat on the bed,

and you was totally caught off guard,

      you wiped your eyes,

      and that made me smile,

because I provoked something in y o u,

              that I hadn't seen in a while.



I do still remember,

   and no doubt I always will,

but I don't write about you the same way anymore,

      or get those creeping c h i l l s,

you are just an inspiration

       and for there is nothing more,

I can't remember what you feel like,

or the sounds you made on the floor,

you just allow me to fall back in love with literature,

                                                  it's now a closed sore.