Correction - "cry over"

I never really am intent to find
The author of this dream now come to me
It was my head settled to wind
The darkest machinery of words, but it may be
Your head that sent it to haunt my sleep.

But you let your stoned heart loose therein
And your silly words falling near my aim
I never really am intent to renounce what's been -
Missing the target, dear, made you no longer my claim
So I am to warn you that the me in you has fled away.

I never really thought of you as cheap in aspiration,
But your power to fool my beliefs is most enchanting
I have eyes and I can see you're illed with absent inspiration,
I should acknowledge Dostoyevsky has a point in ranting
About lifeless characters of minds so willing to waste paper.

Imagining what you believed was my true self
Left me bitter with what you saw as your epiphanies
For I never thought of you as climbing up a shelf,
Waiting for the dust to play you bland symphonies
But perhaps none of them conducts your sounds like me.

Whatever monster I am mirrored in your poet head,
I shall attempt to describe me in words versed
Knowing it is twisted with dark, I doubt it is as sad
As your belief that I am too wicked for us to be inversed,
Yet everything you think is me, I fear - it's you.

I watch you quietly as you lend smiles to those in need
And recall the day you professed endearment to none
Sharing your idea that dull is he who has no greed
Of sounds of friendship and core-felt weighs of tone.
So my memory dwells in ice, find another fool to prank.

Before your weeping willow I lay my cursed sorrow that you know
To lock you with your aging promises inside me without air -
So you drowned your dreams beneath the bottom of my flow
And I could not touch them, you regarded them too rare.
Hard as my way into your mind I found, there was no beam at all.

So if I do not understand, your dictionary will present no help to me,
As every definition is half mine, and your half is but too hollow
I know how words like these can spoil such hearts as yours can be
But I treasure those who find ways back to me, a being but too shallow.
Prove me wrong in my belief that we are parted for eternity.