Squashed-Pi

I’m like a little splot of water on a city bench, As more drops fall from broken hearts, I engulf them and their sorrow in hopes of drowning their miseries away... But soon shall I become the sidewalks corner puddle, dirty and stepped on, All the miseries I’ve taken in will be filtered from my soul by the drain of rusted consciousness and I’ll be one of renewed acceptance, And life to take others worries and help them return to the skies to watch the living slowly soak up knowledge and waste it away only creating bundles of pain to burn, and the misery smoke rises to the rain above to be caught and when it weighs to heavi

I want to support you, but seeing as im broke and unintelligible, I can only write you a poem which will turn out to be more of a letter because I cant do poetry either.... ....Dear Man I Love..... ........I’m here. No money have I to spare or roof to offer you of mine, all I own is love but it seems I cannot even sell it, not even to help you when you’ve hard times pass through you and decide to take residence in your mind. How cruel of these hard times to pester you so, whilst they nag at this soul that I cherish more than my own, this soul pushes on even when it wants to give up, you cant now. I wish you could see you arent the

Its not that I miss you, its just that I think your breathing is a necessary tempo to fall asleep to know. I cant seem to drift like I do with you next to me. You dont have to hold me or even touch me...just grunt when I make the bed shake on accident, or roll over when I squeak it...but honestly.... ....just be there. And please, I beg this of you, just acknowledge me for just being there too.