LOL i doubt anyone still reads this.

Freestyling for a second

im a bit rusty but here goes

I've become privy to the power that my words hold over you

as you've undoubtedly know and have noticed that I shamelessly pursue

it is with no modicum of self respect that i have given myself

i...

fuck it

i cant write anymore

i just dont have it in me.

Here's my letter of prose:

Dear Mary,

My darling, I've began writing this letter on the train back home. I will put it in post to you as I reach the house. I miss you terribly so, and I fear I may never see you again. To envisage such a slight is a sentencing akin to death.

Your face has been my sun in the morn, as the cock crows I do gaze upon your beauty. It is new every rise. Your hair does brush my face and I do draw in your scent. It is of dew and lilac, and growing sweeter by the night.

Write me, I yearn for you.