gripped in hands so paper dry and thin
inscribed a letter, these words scrawled out within
so plain, so haunting, so sinister
so monumental to my mountain of shame and sin.

sealed and stamped, bearing no name
no return address, none to blame
but the matte page, moonbeam bright
from the hands and eyes of a confidant
shipped here from overnight

perhaps a bride was in mail order
gaining insight to my liquid woes
and bouts of mania, trying to strangle
wring out the starry spangles 
of youth, discarded for sleep
soundless and dreamless
here now am I stretched so thin
and left to weep.
so worn and weary from these pleaded answers
kneaded out of me by cold and sharp and steel-surgeon's hands
squeezed out in spades, in tumors, in cancers
full lives lived half-way, in these sacred salt and pepper lands

perhaps that is why i find myself so affected
beaten into sixty-five, promised milk and honey
built a bed acres wide, so I couldn't dare be touched
padded to keep warm with ritalin and money
and god, I've never felt so cold
how long must i have lived so medicated
to ignore this destined writers' gaze
so concerned with greener pastures 
that I should forget to graze
and fill my lungs with free fleeting air
writers' thoughts and dreamers' dares
how i've compressed my life into a better half
buried it with all these artifacts of misspent youth
and how you, anonymous and omnipotent
could disassemble everything with the touch of a quill
to remind me of every time I've fell, 
alone with you, my earthbound hell.

heaving, sobbing cobwebs
awakened by a passing stare
inscriptions on a wedding ring
cowardice and bile
threatened all the while
biting clocks and hands alike
rising in my throat, doubtful bitters
drank like antidotes
until i couldn't run anymore
and here you are at the finish line
waited the entire time to pull 
my ragged remains inside,
whispering that it's OK that we never found Neverland.

there's no other witnesses.
just us two.