Counting the hours between
Saneness and sickness -
A midnight ride to nowhere.
The soul knows what
It\'s tried to lose.
What comes undone;
What comes unsewn
Can be stitched back together,
But you know
It will never be the same.
You thought you had
No use for mourning,
And the terrible ache for home,
But Death sneaks in
Like an idle thief -
Tongues biting like razors.
There\'s a piece of me
That needs mending,
But need necessitates surrender -
Some bitter, writhing memory
Shoved tightly into a place
You cannot touch.
My regret dumped dully
Into the abyss,
I dreamt of you.