Midnight Ride

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.