This isn't poetry. This isn't a love poem. This isn't one man's vague attempts at getting you to notice him in a crowd of the hollow-eyed dressed by proxy group mentality hard trance drug abusing charismaless painless pointless males you hang around with. That's not good enough for you. This isn't a cry for help. This isn't a suicide note. This isn't desperation Because I can live without you but I don't really want to I want you around me permanently I want to know your opinion whatever it may be see your smile rise brush away your tears instead of my own. That's not what I'm trying to do. This isn't a stanzaed chat-up line This isn't an incitement for dating This isn't Hallmark academia Saccharine verse dead on the page flowers that wilt after a month when the thoughts remain long after and the problems never seem to go away and the credit card bills come in at the month?s end and I wonder why did I spend ?50 on flowers? and then I your face floats back into memory and how your eyes lit up and I remember why. That's what I've done for you.