3. a bashful of ink

shy stitched mouth that tries without a way to open

let's begin, you set the pen to paper you're enveloping

sent to sender undelivered, self-reading and moping

fairy tales not buried well, they keep the writer hoping

poems of devotion are just romantic notions that won't come to fruition

the feeling stays in each recycled phrase, same info just a new edition

it happens again, will passions rekindle into burning reds, not this blued vision

that calms my nerves when i lost her, but always re-excited with someone new to visit

this inner turmoil, endless and pure, boils my rage nearly flushing free

to dare not die past cares to try, but her face is blushing me

over-analyze, so sure to surmise only in dreams will she be touching me

realities wake fallacies that run away much too free

could she be's and would we be's become whatever happened to's

and circled streets that hurdle me aren't much better avenues

i tally up the alleys of laments i wish i never had to view

my head spins with might have been's, regret my forever attitude

dead ends begin in repetition, paths i've since ventured on

antisocial, can't approach her, so i settle to send her songs

hoarded love, i board it up, trying to prevent more wrongs

play the game, don't stay the same, uproot yourself from that bench you're on

a humble abode of bundled odes next to my bed in scattered piles

could be sweet oaths to my betrothed if i could speak after she smiles

instead i journal thoughts so eternal the pages can be mapped for miles

til new admirations bring new exasperations, the old ones won't matter for a while