Photo by Roseanna Smith on Unsplash
I read my own writing
watch myself getting madder
on increasingly nonsensical scraps of paper.
My poetry is more inspired
and less coherent; infatuation has ceased
to be devotion, sailed past worship,
descended into tear-stained signs and symbols.
I have put myself on suicide watch
since you are not here to do it for me.
My heart claims
every sound in the drive might be you,
even though I told you not to come
my ears listen for the tap on my window
just old-fashioned enough
to be something you would do if you
came back to love me at last.
About the Creator
TheSpinstress
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Comments (1)
This was so poignant. Loved your poem!