The words on this paper,
Seem far too heavy
For simple ink to bear,
And for this,
This letter is written
In crayon
And marker
And pigmented pencils.

So here it goes,
No one knows,
How many times,
I’ve tried to compose rhymes,
Or even simple lines,
Which tell how I feel,
So here it goes,
Here it goes.

This is something,
Neither one of us chose,
But I seem to have fallen,
And am unable to again rise,
Brush myself off,
And re-focus my eyes,
For I find safety
In hiding behind the guise
And simple friendship.

But I’ve fallen,
I’ve fallen you see,
I’ve fallen quite hard for you,
Oh pitiful, pitiful me.

Don’t worry my dear,
One day this will all end,
When I find myself
No longer able
To endear myself to you
For whatever reason,
Even if I must construct
A few.

It seems quite silly,
Now that this letter is writ,
That I am unable
To decide on a suitable finish,
So signed under Yours Truly,
Is a signature conveying my heart,
Just as my other
Twenty-eight letters did,
Whose fate were
To be torn apart.
But this one, alas,
Will not find a similar fate,
For the postman’s about to arrive,
And I wish to tell you,
Of my emotions,
Which are still alive,
Welling up inside of me,
Crying unabashedly.

Postman, postman,
This letter which you bear,
Is of great significance,
So take much care,
And take much haste,
And take this letter
To the girl
Whose lips
Have a peculiar taste
Of lipstick,
And passion,
And love,
And lies,
And unfortunate good-byes.