on your birthday
I wrote a letter comprised
of all that I adored;
words articulated in strikethroughs
and barrelled with smiley faces
to disguise my evident
addiction to your smile
--to your happiness.
and although I value your happiness
the letter remains at the bottom
of my computer
untouched, unsent
because my heart is already
shred to pieces, and the thought
of you dismissing
the words I poured myself in
is unbearable.
words;
they never articulated properly
although I pride myself a writer;
I addressed situations I overanalysed
over countless nights of lost sleep,
where your mouth dropped,
your eyes lowered
your breath grew heavier after
another brutal attack from my unaffectionate
words.
I noted little things;
conflicts within yourself
and wrote about them,
my remedy a simple melody
contrasting the bitter tunes
spat at you, through widened eyes
and curled lips.
That letter is unsent
because it exposes too much
about how often I think
dream
feel
about you.
while I say very little
