End of the Staircase

I cannot make sense
of my own words;
these repetitious ramblings
reverberating
through the tears;

scribbled heartsongs sung
in pretty little words
to dance with
when sadness spins its web

in-between
us.

You analyze my thoughts
one by one,
ripping stanzas apart,
counting adjectives
instead of letting the love seep in
to that cold stare;
an afterthought,

on starless days
when poetry is the only means

to an end.

~NaPoMo (day 22 a poem a day in April)