I see your words inside my head,
"Still, if it hurts,
you go ahead and write it."
By your taunting stare, my soul lives on,
every breath and every song,
my poetry upon your faith depended.
I feel our kinship like a prayer,
you're forever gone, forever there,
lurking in the depths of every lyric.
We challenge and misunderstand,
we force eachother to defend each feeling.
Then this is growth and this is life,
the cycle of dream-birthing strife,
and from our war we bring a new creation.
The stilted rhymes, the stretching dance,
if I have even half a chance,
it's because you always tell me,
"This is better."