Friday

The bed is empty
As I wake to a call
From my mind.
The covers stick to my skin,
Sweat builds up in every
Pore of my being
And he is gone…
A ghost of my wildest dreams,
One I now believe,
I never did truly see.
The bed is empty
As I rise to the call of morning,
No sun does wonder through
These shut curtains,
So no unwelcome visits from the past.
I am alone,
Looking out over a world,
Too precious to touch.
I am distant
And without capacity to love.

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