To be not vague:
That daffodil hurts.
I am headjumbles, and denial, and very not smart.
I didn't come to judge you, yet I may have projected.
I fish-hooked myself with melancholy bait,
Searching for a familiar voice that I can't even hear.
Sorting through dead topics.
We are reflections and I see myself too clearly, now.
Or just clear enough.
Our poetry sucks.
There's no turning back.