The Boy's Response.

"I'm sorry I make you write poetry.
I wanted to tell you,
But I never could."

Yeah right.
It's attention.
And the poet is almost snared again,
By the boys who speaks novocaine words.

Sad sorry eyes,
And promises to be whatever I wish.
No will of his own,
But yet so willful.

And he worries me.
With his wanting,
And what i don't know.

But he known me,
Knows us.

And what's the harm,
When you just keep an icy mind?

The boy who breaths these words I think,
Will simply be my friend.