I used to love playing with words,
now I don’t even remember how to start a sentence.
Maybe losing you means—
running out of words.
Maybe I loved you—
more than prose & poetry.
I loved you more than the rhymes in me,
more than the ink that stained my hands & fingers,
or maybe more than my morning coffee.
You were the reason why I write,
now the reason why I shouldn’t.
For why should I continue—
if every word I have, falls under you—
& just simply all about you?
Now everything is clear…
You are not worthy—
of every word & poetry.
You do not deserve this poetry;