this... may it be.

I'm writing to, and for you tonight.
Because this... is all I have.
And even so, the blade I'm given
Cannot cut the depths
Of how I feel.
And I don't want to feel... this!
So I 'm writing to you now.
I will not write of her - not yet,
For in those... words - if they
Exist or could be ever uttered,
Would bring about my very death
In one instant. A good death!
That I am moving closer -
Take in all of these... words.
I've said too much and far too less
And need not make
Of what others call "sense".
But those... who have been touched by
The essence masked within
The craft of what I claim to be,
Know the love inside of me
Flirts within, but lies outside of what
This... mind can barely fathom!
I give my all and nothing simply because I am
As much, not less I want to be; but
Daily find myself falling - failing at every
Attempt.
This... is the life for me?

In this... I pray a seed is planted
Of what this... love should be.