Did You Hear Me Break?

I spent last night bleeding words and ways to apologise to you, but I don't think that you want to hear them. I don't know what I am supposed to do with a notebook full of "I'm Sorry's" because poetry is just words and it the reader who makes them art. If you won't read them are they even true? If a heart breaks in forest and no one soul is around to see it shatter, does anyone care at all? Philosophies, soliloquies and tragedies and you and me will never end if you refuse to write with the ending with me. So I will keep bleeding word until my veins run as dry as your tear less eyes, notebook after notebook and I know now that a heart that no one sees break will never fully heal.