Dead letters

Don't send me letters. Dead letters.
They are burned and nothing matters,
They are temporary dun,
They don't bring me any fun.
I will have to mortify:
They are burned, the ash will fly.

The first letter's tale was
To think of me as a loss,
Forget about love-affair.
I just want to say for fair:
In the depth of my heart
I love... But we are still apart.

Later I have read a warning
That your love is under burning!
I've just smiled for a while,
It is standing out a mile
That I hate you anymore
And your love becomes too sore.

What was in the third letter?
For me it wasn't any matter
That I was sent a malediction,
In which you gave me a prediction
Of my unhappy future being,
Including dreadful horror living...

I perused them very quickly,
Laughed a lot but rather weakly,
Brought these letters to the fire,
Started looking with admire
At the fireplace which sparked
All your letters - ashed and marked.