The first love letter speaks of concerns.
You worry about our relationship.
Ever since the first year, I was worried.
I suppose my disquiet is well accounted for.

The pain in my soul is leaving me.
The words burnt deep, but those scars have faded.

The second love letter I found in my drawer.
It says sorry over and over and over again.
Not enough to redeem you.
Not enough to make me come running back.

Letters and hearts combine to make my cross.
But my crucifixion never came.

The third thing I find is doodles.
Death and pain reign over the page.
Drawings of murder and deceit.
Makes me wonder what I held on to it for.

The idea that you were strong only came from fear.
But I have nothing to fear when since I’m not alone anymore.

The fourth letter I find tries to be so sweet.
You tell me I’ve changed you into something better.
At the time, it was so true, but then it failed.
Slowly, you lapsed into what you were when we started.

Faulty attempts don’t mean you didn’t try.
You just didn’t try hard enough to make it effective.

The fifth is another set of sketches.
Death himself appears on the page.
A guillotine prepares to slice its victim.
And I shudder to look at such ideals of carnage from you.

I wonder now if you would have hurt me.
Your little idioms of anguish make my release easier.

The final letter crinkles in my fists.
You’ll never disappear from my side, you assure me.
Where were you when I cried myself to sleep each night?
You never knew the masochistic thoughts running through my head.

It’s over now, but not for me, as you might be thinking.
No, it’s over for you and I hope you can live with yourself.