You know this won’t end well.
It grew from lies and tears.
Don’t make it real, don’t tell.
The right fit needs no hard sell.
If true, you’d have no fears.
You know this won’t end well.
Those heart-surges that swell
He knows but never hears.
Don’t make it real, don’t tell.
The moment soft words fall,
Scalped like raw souvenirs –
You know this won’t end well.
Your quiet love spawns hell
When the confession nears.
Don’t make it real, don’t tell.
Take suffix from villanelle,
There unfurl the wasted years.
This hasn’t ended well.
Don’t make it real. Don’t tell.
Shooter Literary Magazine 
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Beautifully simplistic and overtly compelling. I literally felt what Cara wrote, as an existential long-lost angst from another life.
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