Each letter he draws,
With your face behind his eyes.
The slope of your nose,
The flicks of your lashes,
The curves of your lips,
The little scar that you hate.
He's painted you in his mind,
With more expression than Monet.
And remembers all those times
That you uttered his name.
It left sirens in his mind
And slowly,
It drove him insane.
-
This is from a poem by Nees, I guess this section describes how I feel.
Maybe if you beg enough she'll put the whole thing up :-)
