Just For You Though by Eric Sparks

I could write some prose about a rose, or a poem about my mom;
maybe a sentence for repentance, about how everything is wrong.
I could probably make you smile; we’re only here for a while;
we should probably spend our time grinning like a child.

I could write a book about my crooks, hanging in Seattle nooks
with highs like Peter Pan and lows like Captain Hook.

I could write a whole series, entitled When She Was Near Me,
about nearly every girl that I've loved.

I’d tell you about the drugs, about how they affect love;
they’ll leave us on the ground, by the bugs and the slugs,
but with a few hugs, we manage to persevere.

I could describe addiction, entitle it Fiction,
and then tell only the truth.