The best of my poetry
Has been wasted
Not a single confused, beautiful, word
Deserved

I drew a bath of regrets
And just sat there
Too scared to come out -
Too hopeful you'd come to fetch me

The night is colder
When truth grips your bedside
I don't know which better to believe
Your eyes, or your words

I've decided it doesn't matter
This is a poem for severance.

May a new suitor come to hand me a towel -
And may my courage accept it.