I'Ll Send You 100 Letters That I Haven'T Quite Written Yet

you left me, with no place to develop, no sanctuary to grow, with the anticipation that this vulnerable state will burn me out, for mere pennies I'll sell my soul, my mind's imprisonment deeper than a red rose, passions that align perpendicular to an ocean's horizon, blinded and perplexed by you, tormented by the absence, accused of being narrowed-minded, my best apology forced me to make you analogous to tall green trees, our lost love, the second analogy, you strip me bare of metaphor and simile and color, of anything, the music and tears, the poetry, stripped, stripped of everything, but maybe this first letter, yes, this first weak letter, provides you with the symmetry I still desperately need..