Agony Of Unfinished Words

I could not write
one single line
last aching night.
I felt so discarded.
I could not form
one paltry verse
into poetic form.
I felt so unwanted.

I could not work,
not concentrate,
on anything.
I felt so unloved.
I had to put it
all aside, picking it up
and putting it aside.
I felt so lost.

I was not happy
with even one word
of my writings.
I felt so rejected.
I could not create,
invoke or evoke
anything of any kind.
I felt so buried.

I wrote and wrote
and not even one line
said what I wanted to say.
I felt so constrained.
I hated all the lines,
as all they were
was his absence.
I felt so in love.

His absence
made into an infinite
kind of symbol.
I felt so alone.
Everything the absence
of all that I love most
as to the man I love.
I felt so desiring.

Perhaps only I care
what I felt.
After a while
all I could understand
was one untitled work
inclusive of everything:
as to how cruel
a twist of unloved fate.
existence proves to be.

I wondered,
is that one untitled work
the only true masterpiece
I might be given to create ?
This time was different
I could not do art
to distract myself
from the pain of heartbreak.