Scribbling

Knowing you was scribbling circles with a pen that never had ink to begin with. Tell me why you run barefoot from something that's not even chasing you. My God, your eyelashes are so black that the sun refuses to play hopscotch off of them. Maybe that's why you smile through your eyes; your mouth is too busy choking up excuses. A stranger asked me how I was and she meant it. I wish that I could be like that again. "Oh, I'm fine." I wonder if that's how you felt when I still cared about you