I thought of ways, I wrote them, penned in letters to the mind,
but how they melted from the pages as if I could not prove useful,
myself, this deviant left in her sorrows and no lifeboats coming.
I destroyed all items, in rage I ripped them, how they devoured my soul,
in metric systems not understood by passers-by but yet they knew me,
strangers, and I would not wish them good day for the want of the world.
This poem can be read on poetry.com –http://poetry.com/poems/232864