You know when someone asks you what you're thinking about and you don't want to answer but yet you do it in a poem(happens all the time)

Round we go,
around my thoughts,
of the nights,
we never spent together.

Founded emotions,
on paint and ink,
smudged by napkins,
forming a blurry portrait.

Through the eyes of enjoyment,
I try to figure this out,
but I would never be able to make up what you're going on about.