Sending a Letter

It sits on my desk, stamped and addressed,
waiting to hear your reply. I pace and obsess,
exhausted and stressed, for forgiveness or
a final goodbye.

The thoughts still persist, (although I resist),
what exactly your silence implies. I ball up my fist
at the chaps you have kissed, in response
to my ignorant lies.

My stomach is churning, my tongue is still burning,
as days and then months filter by. Though the thought is concerning,
I think that I’m learning, it may not be
worth it to try.

And so standing, convicted, your ghost is evicted,
I burn up your letter and sigh, no longer afflicted
and just as predicted, I knew you
would never reply.