I tried to love you under the radar
I was unsuccessful even then
Depsite failing myself humiliatingly
I convinced them the truth was what I knew was pretend
I stayed up many countless nights
Counting the silhouettes of stars on my ceiling
And in the end I found myself wondering
About all the possible things you could be doing
I still don’t know how many there are exactly
Because I’m constantly getting lost in the sea of one
I could associate every point on those stars with you
Never realizing the lengths my unconscious mind had gone
So I stopped counting and started painting
You wouldn’t believe what I produced
I thought this would be different, wrong
I did all but paint portraits of you
Picasso, Dalí, Manet
None could capture the essence of what I wanted
Yet, in a single, few mindless strokes
I tortured a canvas with ideals of you for the third time
Seemingly drowning inside my intent
I abandoned painting and returned to my passion
Took only but a second to fall back in habit
I revelled in ecstasy
There, a platform, for your likeness to live
A place to indirectly write a starry portait of you
I had succumbed to the modern forms of expression
But this was an art capable of putting a twist on fate
Easily masking the welcomed contusions of love with hatred
While between the lines only I know what exists
A saga that begs to be captured in it’s entirety of truth
Though my words have a tendency to make things miniscule
Here, I can change what the radar reflects
Continuing my unsuccessful failure alone
And maybe I’ll look into paintings of stars this time
By someone who isn’t aware of you
Opposite of me.