I've a million things I'd like to say,
But not one of them would matter.
All the words and all the dreams,
spilled forth from my lips,
my heart, my soul,
Laid bare before you in simple language,
spoken word,
For you to disregard, tear apart,
Consume wholly, indelicately.
I've a million hopes I'd like to tell you,
But not one of them would be.
All the thousand thoughts woven
From threads of you,
of want, of need.
Stripped naked in your presence,
a screenplay,
Of my love, unfounded,
For you to critique,
Rip from page to page.

Like the breaking of fine china,
How it never is as pretty when in pieces.
So too my heart,
So too my love,
So too my wants, my words, unspoken.