confused

what affords you the right
to write what you like
for the world to see
but not me

creative licence
enabled to express feelings
done with dour notes strung together
to share the abyss to which you have sunk

and when you come out
of the strange dark place
you don't need me to hear
or share the new piece

it hurts - so much
and you really don't know
perhaps i should bear
my soul to you
do you care

the love is bare
and only just there
unfulfilling, no sense of me
and what i might like
going through the motions
have you a notion
of how i feel lost and full of emotion
after?