Id rather die infamous,
than a nobody.
you informed me under the covers of last april.
but youd be my nobody, my fingers sang as they breezed past.
your eyes told me that would never be good enough.
13 was always your favorite number,
and I forever believed it was because its unlucky and
gets a lot of attention.
I gave you all the attention I could afford,
but in the end my bank account just wasnt big
enough to make you smile.
and one night last august, when we were
drunk off our own tears and self pity,
I asked what you wanted more than anything. when your
hazel eyes glazed over, you looked above you, searching
for the right answer.
the stars look pretty tonight, dont you think?
of course youd ask for the one thing I cant give you.
all we were was a couldhavebeen,
full of possibility and promise, all destined to go down the drain because
you couldnt accept that perfection wasnt real and I couldnt believe
that fairytale endings only stay in books.
for you, I tried to have the biggest smile and brightest eyes,
but I couldnt measure up to supermodelhopes and nightskydreams.
I wish I could write through all
twenty-six letters of the alphabet, and I would if youd ask, but
it would be rather pointless since my writing was always inadequate anyway.
(and I have to wonder even if I did,
would you be pleased?)