The Shortest Poem I Know 2

And you moved on, So why do I still write about a person that fades? The shortest poem I know is a lake warm, sweet, cool place But nobody tells you how they disappear And from them You never hear And I never realised the takes, one, two, three, But I stopped writing because people have places to be. I came home. Sat on my bed, Staring out at the sky ahead. Thirteen. Thirteen takes. For my feelings that ache But it's still not heard No. Not by you Maybe never by you