I tried my best, I really did.
I used all the definitions in the book.
To try and make you understand the scribbles in my head.
For I keep shouting that my art is meaningless; it holds no value in its tears.
You only explore my mind implicitly, never listening to my words.
I can see it in your eyes.
But you can't see it in mine.
I need validation, a lover to hold my brain gently even with calloused hands.
I don't miss you, truly, for I am occupied by the betrayll of kin.
I miss you, truly, but without your touch I am still complete.