I Write the Angst I Cannot Say to You

I write the angst I cannot say to you,
for fleeting passions have a fragile make.
The gorgeous night that lays a starry view
on water takes a gentle hit to break.
My love, sometimes, you flare like tulips bloom.
You walk me in and let me come so close.
Then sometimes, love, you wear a dreary gloom
and wilt like touch-me-not when I suppose.
I read between the lines you do not say.
To what end, though, I think. It pesters me.
Shoot me up, then pull me down, you may.
I wonder if to be or not to be.

So meet me halfway, or you see me through.
I write this angst I cannot say to you.

Image Credits: IMDB

Instagram: Read my post

Read more: Poetry