written out on napkins, scrap pieces of paper, and the occasional wall i find barren
the love letters that i've been writing to no one; i'm still trying to forget her
and it's getting harder to lose the words in myself as i lose myself in the words
that i've put down on whatever, where ever i find the time in a love letter
to no one.

so, as i pour myself out into my typewriter and write the types of feelings
you should know i've been trying to forget you as each line passes
as i pour myself another shot in the dark of the days i've been seeing through light
you're long gone, dead, and still unable to see without the frames of your glasses
through no one.

you've taught yourself not to let the letters find you out there in the wild
as i wildly write these letters from the bottom of my heart
sending them off to be edited by the endless critics and satyrs of our time
that have no clue where i'm coming from or even where i had to start;
for no one.