You could
Be the yellow bird

That sings to me
for ever and a day

even
In my moments of immorality

Alternatively
you scurry away

burying me in a nest of wasps

They advise me
Saying

I should move on
Be my own redeemer

Nobody understands
You’re my harmony

Without you, my sunflower
All I have is my self-judgment

But apparently
This is called

Being in control

Not wanting this manage
I hurl it

In a sandy bottle
out to the defenseless sea

Where it’s carried by the waves
eternally missing
in the depths of the sea