I printed a letter I would never send
of fictitious truths to your industry.
Speak not of temptation to make amends,
but of crossing lines and bridges
with nothing less than typed aggression.
It's the new age of social cavalry.

I crumpled the letter I would never send
in the dim light of my room's death row,
staring down the creases of the paper's bends.
Some hearts are of glass and some of stone:
an advantage is that of the colder one.
What happens to the hearts we claimed to know?

I burned the letter I would never send
in the few embers left of your dignity.
Emotions are unknown, yet refuse to mend
with every breath of truth behind unspoken lies,
attention spanning deep below unfragmented cries.
What a strange reward for such honesty!