I don't make time for myself; making time for you,
be dead inside, when I die for you. Die for two, lie for you;
in the bed of death without the truth. The rain in the gutter,
pouring myself; but through a tight funnel. The end of a dark journey, at the other side of that tunnel. We don't believe enough; that we love each other.

I don't mean to be rude; but seem so crude. In the dullness of
yesterday's grey mood. It reigns on me, from above the rule of
thoughts; as ***** as the mud. Thinking of you; guilty of the pleasures. Holding my breath when we kiss, to fill my chest with pressure. Love isn't perfect, but with the lessons we get a little better.

So I had to write this letter...

The words in cursive; complimenting all your curves. The edges of the sword, piercing my heart. Your tongue is always so sharp. I seen a couple clouds shaped like hearts; pierced by the lightening at night. Which gave me a fright, of all the possibilities that might.

I stink of doubt, under the half bottle of cologne to impress your clout. The trends of love; on insta screens, telling me how to love. But why am I spilling my guts? Cause those deep feelings I have, just leaves me with enormous cuts.

Kumbaya; in the sarcastic unity we portray. Round the burning camp fire of love; hoping it burns into the day. The passion of *** after arguments. Leaving too many things in the air, just to face turbulence.

But let me stop right now, before I bleed out my pen. But what if there's more for me to write even after then? I hate that we failed as lovers, but are somehow drifting away as friends.

****! I did it again...