Late H

Each time you flee, late H

“I” blocks actuality

Refusing to kiss it

For “I” craves you present

Not knowing how to quit it

Each time you flee, late H

The night goes a little cold

And so “I” tries to pour your existence ink in paper

But merely finds soothing lies drawn in bold

Each time you flee, late H

“I” unfortunately wonders oddly

about how terrifyingly short the time “I” took to like you

But most precisely

About how terrifyingly long the time “I” will take to kill you

Once and for all

Each time you flee, late H

“I” sits and awaits

And says maybe tomorrows pack new

But only half-baked days arrive in place

Each time you flee, late H

“I” unwillingly rests dead, each minute, for ages

Wishing you would only know

Wishing to break free of those stages

Each time you flee, late H

You grow quite more appealing

For “I” never runs after the weak

And thus questions if it’s finally the time to revealing

Who “I” is

but maybe "never" is the right time to speak.