My boy, you creep inside my skin
You look so pretty
Unsure where you and I begin
and where you leave me
I feel rain
I feel rain
I feel rain, more’s the pity
See me drown in your campaign
No chance of winning
I feel pain, I feel pain, I feel pain
I am bleeding
Cocooned in your sweater, all bloody stained
lose, never leading
writing letters to fix the blame
it’s all the same
It’s all the same. I feel rain
Gin and Tulips 
I blove your poetry. It feels like it flows off your pen. I, on the other hand, have to struggle for hours, weeks even, to get it all to come out right. I detest the taste of gin. by the way. And vodka. It’s bourbon or nothing for me. Tulips are nice enough. You really should publish an anthology. Just blove it! ❤
I’m with you on the vodka. Terrible stuff. Gin is my poison. And Guinness. And red wine. But other that that, I don’t drink.
Again, thanks for you compliments. I write very quickly. Like it bursts out.