Tales of Bygone Lovers

I Wrote You Letters

I wrote you letters every day

After your devastating departure

I had so many things to say

While you were off being their Marcher

The passion you alighted

Set my soul ablaze

Tender kindling was ignited

By which, I was overwhelmingly delighted

But my feelings went, yet again, unrequited

I was far too silly and short-sighted

Left stupefied, stunned and blighted

I wrote you letters every day

Not to mention poetry

Which isn't a meaningless fucking past time

It's a part of me

A part that lives

A part that burns

To try to put this raging hurt into words -

Useless, volatile, absurd -

A part you shall never spurn

To the flames of truth, I unwillingly yield

Your indifferent side has been revealed

I wrote you letters every day

But would you have ever read them?

Or would they have just been a nuisance

Filled with trivia and translucence?

You left me in impuissance

Like an unwanted piece of phlegm

Cast into the fire, obsolete

This dry, dehydrating heat

Boiling my tears

Evaporating off my cheeks

But for all his anger, my fears

Can never be scorched away

No room to breathe in such disarray

The consuming smoke is suffocating

But even that eventually dispelled

To nothing but a faint, perturbing smell

All lingering sparks for you, I quell

Left by your underwhelming bombshell

That exploded, now in desolation I dwell

My heart has been burnt out

To a brittle, smoking crisp

Collapsing, imploding, disintegrating

Presents nought but searing cinders

Memories nought but smouldering embers

And my love -

That battles, churns and thrashes -

Is nothing

Nought but ashes

But you are no longer my concern

I wrote you letters every day

Now they can go to hell

And burn