I crawl to my bed each night,
Curling under crumpled covers,
And counter the cold between the sheets
With rememberings of you.
Fleeting ghosts are all I have,
Aside from worn leather tied around my wrist,
A symbol you don't understand,
Whose significance you have forogtten.
Alone in the tangible and abstract,
There is little to drive the chill from my skin,
Save half remembered embelishments
Of what once was
But will not be again.
A formerly infatuated realist,
I can stomach the bitter pill
Of your absence.
Though I wish you had not taken
So much of my heart with you,
Leaving me so defenseless against the cold.
Report a Policy Violation
Follow us on Twitter
Become a fan on Facebook
Comments