A/N: I've said it before and I'll say it again- I'm not Jean Prouvaire. This poem was partially inspired by George Blagden's "I Will Follow You Into The Dark," (and don't even get me started on how absolutely amazing that song is) and it was written over a period of months. I wrote the first two paragraphs/stanzas/whatevertheyrecalled about a month ago, with the note "E/R poem. [TBC]" because I didn't know where to go with it. I wrote the rest of the poem about an hour before posting it here. I'm not sure if it's technically even a poem, because it could be broken up into an fanfiction story, which I am definitely thinking about writing. Also, sorry about the fact that the only poems I can apparently write are angsty. *shrug*

-Vroche

"You're good for nothing, fool."
Words that seemed like nothing to him.
Words that were shrugged off like a bothersome fly by friends.
Words that hurt like hell exploded.

He didn't know.
He had no clue.
The man of marble
Is yet again oblivious.

Day after day,
Week after week,
Month after month,
Year after year.

Passing it off as a drunken joke.
Smiling to hide the pain.
Forcing laughs,
Only pretending to forget.

Apollo gave meaning to my life,
So how can he just yank it away?
Twisted and tumbling
Through the haze of absinthe.

They pity me.
"Why don't you attend meetings anymore?"
I'm just busy, I say.
They don't know,
They can't know
What it's like.

What it's like to have lost everything
And then found it in one man.
What it's like to see all that you aren't
To see how you could have changed

What it's like to be ridiculed and scorned
By the only one you care about.
Politics? Gods? Family? Friends?
None of that matters in comparison to him.

Him. Apollo. Greek god.
Icy blue eyes that say,
You don't belong here.
Curly golden locks that I see so much of,
After he turns away from me, the winecask.
Pale, stoic features, so young, so sharply hurtful.

Darker and darker my days become,
The void is clear.
His eyes illuminate my dreams,
And for once, they're emotionless.

Wasting away,
Kind of hoping he cares how I'm doing.
But there's never a knock at the door,
No letters, no anything.

His final words to me have twisted my mind,
I am worth nothing.
Not to anyone
Farewell, Apollo.

I still believe in you.