the thing about unwritten poems they never heal i hate to remember you in the unwritten pages of my diary not that i don't see, i do at times, i confess, to self that i haven't stopped seeing you yet in vengeance, in frustration, in despair in the desert like longing to see you i see you in all the unwritten pages i write poems to remove your shadows from the the unwritten pages love that's not soiled with metaphors and mediocrity burgeons in health not in diaries the thing about unfulfilled love, in our despair to forget we remember and remember i had sworn to move on but the thing about unwritten poems they never heal