There is No Title
How many rotten things
in Denmark, Scotland
or Ireland...
My words gone
called away wasted
into a void, black hole
of eventual love tuned
out, turn away, tone deaf
when there's nothing to
say or hear...
My words gone into
a length of no tomorrow.
How many more times
would it be ok to whisper
in your ear, "I miss you"
You become a shadow I need
to touch. Kill me with this
closeness just out of reach,
worse than before and still
worth the pain.
I'm not alright,
but I will be.
1 comment:
ive always been fascinated by the snow. and how it feels empty and yet exhilirating to witness and experience it alone, adds up to a mix emotions of joy and sorrow.
i like your poems.
drop by my blog sometime.
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