mail boxes

it is
as though
everybody has died
and gone to heaven
and i am writing letters i cannot send
because the mail boxes are too full
of sympathy
and regret

i fill your head with stories that are no longer stories
that are mine to tell
yet i cannot stop but tell you
all the more

there is no truth
and a tiredness waiting in my eyes
to catch me
if i hold them shut too long
i am always waking up too late
and you will probably not get my letter
not in this time of mourning.