Poetry Killer

I've been afraid you killed my poetry.
You slowly became the death
Of every poetic thought inside my skull
Not because they no longer flickered between my ears,
But because they were no longer good
Enough for the paper they'd be written on.
I've been afraid you took from me
Every thought worth writing down,
Thoughts about the cotton candy clouds above our sleepy heads,
About the army of colorful balloons across the fields,
Afraid you ripped from my my every sparkling thought
About heavens above filled with twinkling diamonds,
Or the rivers of crimson and gold along the road,
Terrified you took from me my dear beloved poetry,
That you came into my life to steal like cheap thieves in the night
My ties to the bard's true words of biting thumbs of foreshadowing ghosts.
But I've been wrong.
You stole from me the mundane series of wishes,
The subjects of a thousand rotting poets,
A thousand words I would have written for you.
A thousand words that have been written before.
I've been afraid of unworthy words used to describe
Just how you make tremble in the night,
Words that I could never use to successfully explain to you
Just how you have become my favorite paper to write on,
Te only subject worthy of my sleepless nights,
The only worthy vessel in which to pour my every thought.