i used to write long
letters, trying to right the ship
i was on
as it sank
into a blue sea.
tearful letters, letters of remorse,
letters of angst
and pain,
and sorrow.
my fingers knew no end to what
what was in my heart.
the ache was poetic and dark,
it was a strange period of time
back then.
thinking it was the loss of love,
but having nothing to
do with such a thing.
i have burned everything i ever
wrote,
and vowed to never be in such
a horrid state, so lost
again with such a sick individual.
new ink will not go to waste
anymore.
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