I wrote this poem for me, you see?

And not at all for you.

 

Wait, you expected more from me?

I dwell within the truth.

 

You may call me vain, but you

Do not know who I am.

 

If you loved you as I love me

Well, then you’d understand.

 

See, I cross out more than I keep

One must to keep one’s brain.

 

A jumbled disappointment mess

Drives greater men insane!

 

So, leave me with eccentricity

I’ll leave you with your wounds.

 

You’ll never even hear from me

And that will be too soon.