I have read yours, I read a couple just now to refresh my memory, they sound too happy for me, a poem has to satisfy my inner goth.
No problem. Years ago, I composed many such poems for my ex-secretary. She once told me she'd never had a love poem written to her. So, after thinking how wrong that was (she was one of the gentlest souls I've ever met, and deserved, I thought, to have poems composed to her), I wrote one or two poems that expressed a platonic love for her. Then something happened to turn things dark and depressing.
Over a period of a few short months, she eased into an abusive relationship with a young, lost, and stupid boy. This upset me because I really did love her. So my poetry first turned to an attempt to get her to see what she was getting into, and then turned downright pessimistic, despairing, hopeless, and depressing. I wrote some powerfully depressing poems back then. Stuff you could have chanted to a blissful saint and the saint would have despaired and died on the spot. By that time I was no longer writing in a style she could appreciate, though.
I can't recall any of it now except a line from one of the very early poems, when I was still optimistic -- and it was in a style she liked.
Tara Lyn, the boys have sold you
All their promises and their lies,
And soon I'll see the sadness in your eyes.
Sad to say now, but the poem was prophetic. As she was increasingly abused, her eyes lost their life and liveliness, and their bright and fresh blue color rapidly greyed to that of an old woman. She was only 21.
I have a friend who just loves his take on life.
Make me want to die please.
If something comes to me, I'll give it a shot. No guarantees, though.