The poem I'll never send
is stained with dry tears,
all smudged and wrinkled
for it's been unfolded
more times than you know.
It's full of questions
as to why you went away,
how you dared confuse fate
by messing up our destiny,
breaking my heart in two.
Every breath I breathe,
I labor with inquisition.
Every word written down
points to why's and how's;
the poem I'll never send.
