Each letter in the crescent crime, the curvature, of rhyme sublime, of poetry, that endless time, that woos the heart, and disturbs the mind.

Free verse, reverse, the intention of what is felt, the heat of passion sweltering, the faith of the faithful faltering, and yet the letters trickle on.

A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes, why? Vowels and consonants, sounds spread and permanent, meaning that's resonant, but why, why to us?

Because despite the efforts we solemnly make, those with similar intentions, are eager to fake, a gaggle of meanings, they're apt to take, and steal what we want, for what they stake.

For a heart is not impressive, an attempt is not opressive, a love is not repressive, and a tear is not conducive to a promise.

And yet through all that time we wish to give, separate of us, our love wishes to live, and through temptation, that hope is shivved, cut in twain, that which we'd give.

But words mean nothing. Meaning means nothing. Affection means nothing if not wrapped properly. How much like a video game people are. "Put the pentagon in the pentagon slot. Your love in the money slot." Everyone has their taste, and hungers now, so make haste.

And utterly, utterly, one is not needed. One is kept on the side for wanting too much. And others that are more subtle, are promoted. And no matter how much one might say "Others run away", when given emotions throughout the day. You do not much. You do not come close.

Do I love more? Do I love unhealthily? Is it too intense? Because in every experience, in EVERY experience, it has always been too much.

If love is so grand and so unconquerable, why is it that people fear my love even more than they fear my TRUTH. Why is my heart more terrifying then my mind?

And thus I am told "You will always be something. Always a friend.". But what they mean is, "I won't grow so utterly bored with you that I'll stop talking". As if I didn't know that, it takes a true dullard to be abjectly boring.

But I am alone. For all my caring and all my attempts, I feel so utterly alone, because promises are broken, and affections torn away.

A lone. A, E, I, O, U. And sometimes why?

A lone.

Exactly

In my heart

Only I.

Am utterly alone.

And sometimes, sometimes, God forgive me sometimes, I ask, Y?