My arcane letters won't be coming
In the mail any more.
You crave to mutilate them,
To read something possibly alluded to
Within the fragile text.
With your deluded hopes for me;
Endlessly wading through my thoughts
On paper, in ink.
Crisp, white papers.
Meant only to inform you
Used against me.
Algid thoughts and woeful expressions,
You're trying too hard,
You're thinking too long,
You're feeling too much.
Breathing through your head,
Lacking trust for me,
As though your unfortunate qualms
Could be pinned on me. |