Twisted sheets, mind on stutter
Unable to sort through this midnight clutter
Put it away for tomorrow
But what to do with my gnawing sorrow?
I circle soft blue on color book pages
Hoping the repetition eventually assuages
The raw edged reality of lonely dark hours
Filling the void with Crayola flowers

The best of intentions
Often lead to broken hearts
Hope graveyards
The memory of warmth
Ghost arms to hold us

I may not be able to feel my fingers
The words still flow.