3 a.m.
his subconscious paints
all the angles of her face
distorting them, as if
unintentional
despite what his conscience self
wants
4 a.m.
sleep still unreachable
the memories storming in
uninvited
and unwanted
swamping every corner of his mind
Every promise
he once believe in
now empty and defective
the thought of her absence
crippling
5 a.m.
the harsh noise of the alarm
telling him bluntly
more torture is on its way
what they commonly call education
The place where
he can look
but not touch
not feel her skin
underneath his fingertips
The place where
he is visible to everyone
but her
And that fact alone
twists the knife deeper and deeper
into his chest
every day.
-
Author:
Nicole Brant (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 7th, 2017 08:51
- Category: Love
- Views: 18
Offline)
Comments2
A great write
Thank you
Very well written, Nicole. Even though these times are far, far back in the past, your excellent poem made me remember!
I'm glad I could refresh some memories. Thank you
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