When I am happy, I close my eyes
and every memory once in a disguise
surfaces, and then I grin
thinking of faces, the story can begin.

When I am sad, I close my eyes
and every memory once in a disguise
surfaces, and then I cry
thinking of faces, eyes that told a lie.

Back in time, I float to meet
memories that are not sweet.
words that broke my heart
are heard again, piece in part.

Painting on a canvas what you see,
but you know nothing of life, nothing of me.
Sing your songs of love, but you do not know
how to live it, or help it grow.

Your books are full of thinkers
who were actually a bunch of drinkers
you drank their words
until half empty or two-thirds.

You held my heart in the palm of your hand
Standing their motionless, I did not withstand
as you juggled it around and laughed when it fell,
rolling your eyes when mine began to swell.

Pages upon pages have I written about you
You do not deserve the paper that I went through
Take your Van Gogh and Lewis and put them away
I need nothing from you and wish you would not stay.

Married now and probably content
does she know of the women who spent
time with you, admired you and cried
because of the sincerity you denied?

I still cannot face you without reminiscence
of a sad time, a hard time where I lost commonsense
If I had known you only spoke to please me,
I never would have taken you up on that coffee.