Crossroads

It's a crossroads between you and I And I can't translate what goes through your mind I'm sick of formications and false communication from you. I try to write poetry But it comes out as something unglued Like paper stars on notice boards And rainy Sunday afternoons. Will you see me for me? Can you hear me? I miss the sunny days And your promises of always and more. Guess I'll wander back from a rehab Of leaving your flaws. I'll open the door. And lay out the plan Two kids in the park with a pen And a page and two hands. I'll watch the paint dry Cos' it hurts less than looking Directly into your eyes. You see her. But I only see you and I. Can you see me? Can you hear me? Can you feel me? Can you touch me? Can you know me like I know your addiction? Can I show you what it means to be fiction? Will I pray for our love's crucifixtion? Was it all in my imagination? It's a crossroads between you and I. And I think of summer's that passed me by. My thoughts are contradictions, I don't want affiliations with you.