Sometimes I wonder
what it's like
to be a letter unsent.
All packaged up
ready to go,
yet,
someone won't ever send it.
Words on paper
ready to be read,
yet,
someone won't ever read it.
Confessions,
“I’m sorrys”,
“Get well soons”,
“Thank yous”,
all never to be heard,
or read that is.
It's funny
how we can vent our soul
onto a piece of paper,
but yet,
no one else will ever read it;
but yet,
it will never again see the light of day.
It sits there
on the kitchen table
until it gets put
in the back of the closet,
where it rots away
like our minds
of unspoken words.