"For You, Too. End"

Here I sit
With pen and paper
Wishing to write
About things of importance.
Yet I can think of nothing other than
The poem I wish to write for you.
About you, rather.
But that’s a poem I don’t wish to write.
It would only contain cliché emotions,
Emotions that everyone’s experienced.
But our situation was unique.
And my psychosis only sped the inevitable.
However, this poem isn’t’ about you,
And this candlelight and bottle of tequila in front of me
Have nothing to do with you.
They’re a product of me.
You unwittingly opened the door
For me
To realize my own faults.
For that I thank you.
Because now that I know them,
I can recognize when I’m fucking up.
As for everything else concerning you,
I wish I could say it meant nothing.