Psychopath Poet

What will I do if I keep writing you love poems? 

I show no sign of stopping 

And your eyes aren't any getting uglier. 

Soon the will be too many to put in a notebook

And if I mailed them to you

The shipping would bankrupt me

And then I couldn't afford a new notebook

Then I'd have to write you sonnets on garbage:

An ode to your un-ugly eyes 

Penned on a forgotten pizza box

And then I'd be even more like a serial killer 

Isn't it funny how if I write you a post card I'm romantic

But if I send you one etched into a rat 

I'm a psychopath

Its not fair

I mean

An artist uses the materials at their disposal 

Speaking of which 

I suppose I should stop wasting paper

Choose my words more carefully...

After all

Your eyes aren't getting any uglier...

And, if I am in fact a psychopath,

I should really think before writing things down at all.