Something I wrote on the blistering car ride to Canada
With eyes of glass,
I stare off into space.
Every waking thought
spent imagining your face.
You cling to my heart
like a thorn that won't budge.
What begun as love
has become a grudge,
I blame you for not
seeing or trusting,
loving or lusting,
and refusing to care.
Anyone with eyes could
see the love I could give
you is so deep and so rare.