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Letters from you to me


The letters come to me

Unedited sporadic

Mail of pain and redemption

Of lost hope

Of being lost

Attempts to find

The layers I pick through for words that define

The condition of your days

Bruises and cuts

Time from booze

And blood

Seeping down your arm

Onto the floor

As you dig ever deeper

To uncover the horror

Of your early life

And the intrinsic meaning

Of the battering and beatings

That have left you forever

Detached from life

Or the prospect of love

But attached instead to a loathing of self

Your sense of depletion

And your constant deception

The endless

Hiding and seeking

Lost hours making up lost days

Meeting years that make a life that’s lasted longer that you expected

You, constantly projecting

That you’ll be gone when you are done

When you have cut the wound from your body

From your mind

You’ll have somehow won

When you have scalpeled the words onto the page

And only then

The rage

That normally persists will hopefully desist

There is undiscovered

Loss and hope for a different time

When your skin on mine

Was warm or hot

Not covered in marks from the harm you inflict

But now, today, we wait

Is this the first or last

The pain of loss

Meets the list of gains

The horrors revealed but always contained

The things that were done

To your small body

Can never be separated from the man

You then had to become.

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