Four cups of tea, two
pieces of toast and
three hours of good
cryin’ later, confused
I can’t stop the words
or the writing; all day
with the writing. My
wrists feel slit and
fingers numbing,
can’t stop feeling,
can’t stop thinking.
Honestly, I have to ask
myself if more would
be known in fifty-two
conversations than three.
And I answer yes cause
it took sixteen years
for me to know the last
but he didn't share did he
until now after two years
of being someone else's.
