You pick up your pen and write something.
Made up of words you could never say.
All joined together with sugar and lies.
All as deceitful and sweet, as if said just yesterday.
Accidentally found deliberately.
They’re brought to me by a friend of a friend.
Who knew these letters could shatter at will?
Delusions, I held so thinly within, as if said on a whim.
I sadly hold these love letters of razors and knives.
Who knew of such a rare selection?
And though we are dying, we go on with our lives.
Blithely, friends can deliver in any direction, as if voting the next election.
Our secret letters, addressed to someone you know.
Daylight and dark ignore that they meet.
I have to keep these letters hermetically sealed.
These duplicates written, but I thought just for me, as if wishing could ever be.