I see your stuttering on paper
in criss-crosses and muffled writing.
Years have past;
your confusion still lives on these glossy pages.
Was it a confession?
You know this too well,
but a cool breeze lies at the end of this hell.
Was it something more sinister?--
it doesn't get better,
so I'll just wish you good luck.
I wish I had asked you.
All I have now is ambiguity
in black and white.