Perhaps it is at night,
When the absence of her presence,
Make itself felt,
Like a few sharp
needles,
Stuck into my eyes.
Perhaps it is at night,
When I tightly shut my eyes,
And
instead discover that,
I cannot close my mind.
I think that only at night,
Am I foolish
enough to imagine,
That this will end in nothing but intense and flaming pain.
because as I
separate me from myself,
I sit back and watch the future in dread and terror,
As each little step
closer,
As each little moment of wonderful and pure connection,
(words are such a cheap and paltry
substitute for describing the
depths of the feelings I feel for you)
becomes another bleeding and
disturbing wound,
Upon my upper forearm.
TwiG