I wrote you a letter.

I wanted to write a poem,
but then it got ill metered
so here i am, with a letter
that will never get posted
to you.
You'll find me
on a path less travelled then most.
The writhing mess
of a hallowed ghost
that i happened to be
when you once knew
what used to be me.
I'm a little bit intoxicated
by a numerous tie of drugs
but in the midst of writing
this, it has given me enough
power of anxiety and fear
to write these words down
to let you know how i feel
and how i feel
now your down in some ample little bedroom
on the quieter side of town,
with his arms around your waist,
with his taste in your mouth,
with his fingers in the crooks
of where i first found desire to take place,
and i know how much this resembles us by the look on your face,
i know how much it takes for one to take my forgotten place,
and it's soon non existence memory i used
to occupy the space
in your fragile little mind, where i used to waste a lot of your time
in your broken little soul and if you remember how i told you that i'd never let you go
you'd know my predicament,
the little nudge in my soul that tells me to call you and listen to your voice
but i'd rather sit and whisper the poem you once voiced
in the sleepless nights that took place in my bed
where you thought i was sleeping but i listened to everything you said.