And yet...

Everything was slightly blued
Her eyes 
Her hair 
And now it is a colour of my mood 
 

She was the sexiest thing around and she didn't need to be nude 
She was witty grumpy kind of rude
The moment she entered the room i knew i was screwed

I wrote hundreds of lines to get her out of my head 
Thousands of times i reminded myself about the words she said
Spent days pretending she isn't perfect
And yet...

I painfuly know she is 
And still she sits upon the thorne of my heart
Who would have thought that emptiness would be so hard 
To carry around
 

She owns my poetry 
Everything i write is either 
For her 
About her 
Or a distraction from a memory of her
  

And i wouldn't have it any other way
And so day by day 
Line by line 
I learn how to live with the fact she isn't mine
 

What a hopeless endeavor 
I am sentenced to be sad forever 
Not by her but my own unwillingness to let her go
By inability to buy a ticket for a different show
 

And just like that i find myself 
Wishing for the relief from suffering i won't allow to end
I typed out so many masseges 
And never onece did i hit the fucking send

Anyway what would be the point 
Better to roll another joint 
And write another poem 
About how she left my heart broken 
With scars on it open
And hope for a future stolen
 

And be amused by the absurdity of it all 
She was a sinful miricle i never even hoped for 
And now sadness runs through my core 
From that everlasting war
 

Between what i want 
And what i know to be true 
The circle is now clomplete
Now you know why i am blue