My fingers are tired,
And my heart always broken.
My soul wants to give up,
Despite all false hopes and promises.

I won’t write for you anymore.

You don’t read them.
And if you read them…you ignore them.

While I turn every drop of my blood into words.
And paint papers with them.
While my mind is covered in ink stains.

I won’t write for you anymore.

I fill my prose and poems with fragments of my soul.
My words try to tell you how every part of me loves you.
But you don’t care.
Not anymore.

I won’t write for you.
Because you don’t write for me anymore.

My love,
You broke me…
And now all I have left is my love letters to you.
Yet, nowhere to send ’em to.

♡ XOXO ♡

© Fiona Crystal • July 11, 2018 01:35 PM
Fiona Diaries — ‘Heartbeats and Wild Things’ • All rights reserved