I don't have anything to write this poem about..
I could write it on you
and how terribly beautiful it is when the sun shines off your Favorite hat
And when the music fills the car
On purpose just so we could fall in love. 
I would.

I'd love to tell them all about you
but it hurts.
and you aren't you.

And they are just some employee of life who happened to fall on the path of a corrupted soul with no chance to get to know them. 

I feel bad because I want to write of you.
But i know.
I know that if I write about
the way your cheeks purse when you are happy,
I will think about that time when your cheeks weren't pursed.
When they filled with the blood of our piercing fights
And the light had been drained.
But it is temporary. 
And permanently blinded by the overwhelming sorrow.

And I'm sorry
because I don't have anything to write this poem about when you are all I know.