The story of a poem (that never was)

I spent the whole afternoon crafting a poem.
I looked for the right words,
(to tell you the truth, my heart was not being generous,
so I had to borrow).

That poem talked about a labyrinth,
and like a labyrinth, the words within crawled up inwards
and endlessly...

With black ink on white paper I wrote that poem
and like a labyrinth, the words within crawled up inwards
and endlessly... (and I did not had to press 'send'),

I took the poem with me, along with some gifts which I
wrapped in silver, just like myself (secretly I was the gift, myself).
And when I gave myself in, no one was there.

I took the gifts along with the spiral poem with me
and threw them out of the window facing a castle,
and in that very moment,
the whole dream vanished.