oleander, I think you're better.

These gold pages
Are far too beautiful
For my words.
And this pen
Keeps dying much like
My thoughts.
Scattered and
Thin.
How did we
Get here?
In the sunlight, I need
You.
In the dark,
You won't stop.
Patterns and shapes
Writhe across the paper,
The sheets,
My face.
I have sat here for
Hours.
But this won't break
Me.
No.
It will not
Break me.