I'm not obsessive;
Just a bit crazy.
I'm not depressive;
Just a bit hazy.
I'm not wayward;
Just a bit impulsive.
I'm not haphazard;
Just a bit convulsive.

You're not answering,
I'm not ending this,
I am adhering,
To my forgotten bliss,

And fine,
Leave me be,
Leave me behind,
But I will make you see,
That you cannot ignore me blind,
For I will persevere,
Yes, I will do all that I can,
Make you volunteer,
To reply like it was your plan.

If my words are forlorn,
Discarded like a dead man,
I will be reborn,
Tell you "Hi, my name is Joanne",
And if there is no response,
I will find you once more,
Hold you in that imaginary sconce,
Say "Oh, how I adore".

And if that's not enough,
I'll show you my tears,
I won't be tough,
See how my make-up smears?

I'll write to you a song,
With those improvised words,
About how you're gone,
And how I'll remain absurd.

A poem I will write,
Filled with desolation,
About how I fight,
And how you fill me with anticipation.

I will write an email,
Filled with confessions,
Tell you the tale,
Of all of my transgressions.

And if by some insanity,
that will not suffice,
I will shower you with profanity,
And break this wretched device.

But what would it all mean?
What would it be worth?
If all that I get are a lousy three words?

And no, the three words would not be "I love you",
They would just be:
"I read it",
"I replied. See?".

Yet that would not even happen,
You've already decided,
Will I have to drop my pen,
And pretend I never confided?

How sad that I never received,
My heart in return,
For all the words I conceived,
And all of that concern.

For you I would do anything,
Though I know it's not real,
I will get nothing,
And you will not feel.

So, I will kindly ask,
Please do this,
this simple task,
I'm not asking for a kiss,
an oxygen mask,
or pure bliss,
Just a reply,
So I know you're alright,
Even if it's a goodbye..