Helpless Poem by Matt Pratt

No matter what I say, no matter what I do,
It seems all of it, just frustrates you.
Now it seems when I talk to you,
There's nothing you wouldn't rather do.

Even before I sent the flowers,
We could speak for several hours.
We used to talk most every day.
Hours and hours we had words to say.

I know things are not the same,
And I know you're not to blame.
You keep saying to take it slow.
It's a measure of time; as to grow.

I'm sure you'd rather it not be,
That there's any talking between we,
But how is it that you can not see,
That not talking to you is killing me.