It's What It's Ment To Be Poem by thomas coltrin

A blank piece of paper
I write down some words,
I ask you for a favor
I feel like I’m in cords,
Erased and scratched up
Like a long shopping list,
You’re the one that I love
And allays have missed,
The things that I write
Don’t make any sense,
But why does it matter
When you don’t have to explain,
Another long day
I look through the past,
You’re my favorite person
I hope we will last,
Its raining outside
I turn of the lights,
Alone in the car
I turn on the bright’s,
The number I dial
We speak a few words,
I think of your smile
And how much my life hurts,
I never get to see you
Your touch is missed,
I pull out of the drive way
A noise, a light, I’m killed.