Late Night Thoughts

My story is not long, my plot is not intense.
It was so hard to write through my own self-defense.

Said you didn't want my blood, I replied I had none left.
Still hoped you would not see how you had left me bereft.

You never did like to get the letters that I sent.
You never even understood anything in them that I meant.

You read them once again, the ones you didn't burn.
Press them to your lips, your wonderful concern.

You walk into my room, you sit there at my desk.
You start the letter to the one who is coming next.