It may not be

It may not be

Intentional

I lost my romance

To punctuation

Even without commas

The syntax is all wrong

These long years

Since

So many minutes

Before the clock stopped

I am

Already lost.

These are the words

Of a disordered

Paragraph

Bring me a bucket

Empty it

Over my head,

Drown me like a

Mangy cat.

I am a sorry wretch

To be so drawn

Into a conversation

Without a question

To mark

My progress.

Every incomplete thought

Represents

A regression

In value

When what has gone

Is without doubt

Worth more than

The sum of what

Remains.