third sonnet

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So here I am, one more failed romantic.

Where my proclamations of love scared you.

I'm delusional, unhealthy, and sick.

Wishing I could blame innocents or youth.



Drunk off of feelings I don't understand.

I doubt your real, where the flowers bloom.

Much like a rose growing out of the sand.

I move between my faith and my doom.



I wasted a chance at a friendship.

Neither was I worthy of or deserve.

Writing an epilogue off one sip.

The wine was too strong to let me learn



that what I need was as simple as truth.

You were a light whereas I was obtuse.

 

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