IF I WRITE THIS POEM

If I write this poem,
Will you wonder what it means?
Will you peel away layers?
Or read between lines,
Or shine the light,
Of what was said,
On what was left unsaid?

It could be about you,
Or it could be a fabrication;
a meaningless invention.

See, sometimes I imagine myself,
In a relationship,
In a situation,
In some future hell,

(Or heaven for that matter).

Sometimes I dream:
I am in love,
I am in hate,
I am in lust.
I am distraught.

If I write about being distraught,
It could be a dark vision,
Or Cassandra-like thought
Of dire consequences;

But would it make you-
Pick up the phone,
Call me,
Alarmed,
Concerned,
Hurt,
Angry,
Betrayed,
Confused?

Would you believe,
it stems from a truant imagination,
that it’s nothing more than lurid fiction?

Where the protagonist is me
But the antagonist is never you?