This poet with the frail soul
writes on stiff crumpled paper
and the walls of her heart

she wrote in order to feel
she felt in order to live
and she lived because of love

your love
that caressed her dark mind
and gave her the opportunity to love back

So when that love
your love
was stolen from her home

by the people she tried so hard to please
and to whom she so foolishly
gave the key to her happiness

she stopped writing.

because she stopped feeling.

because she had stopped living.

and words will never be enough.