My eyes lower themselves day after day
because they cannot take the heaviness of your absence any longer
they are fixated on your photograph
while the image of you dances on my frontal lobe
my lips are stitched together with pieces of your skin
I cannot speak of you
or my ears will infect with curdled milk from the mouths of neglected goats
at least you're in my pillow case
we meet almost every midnight
when you slip back inside the right side of my brain
and sleep abruptly without a sound.

Shortness of breathe
and weakness of knees
unable to blink
and unable to think.

My heart is bleeding out
and the blood is freezing around my rib cage
and I thought you were cold blooded.

Repetition
repetition
repetition
bad poetry
and sunken ambitions.

Change comes in a blink of an eye
but all I can see is our past
since there will be no future.

THESE are the clouds about the fallen sun,
The majesty that shuts his burning eye:
The weak lay hand on what the strong has done,
Till that be tumbled that was lifted high
And discord follow upon unison,
And all things at one common level lie.
And therefore, friend, if your great race were run
And these things came, So much the more thereby
Have you made greatness your companion,
Although it be for children that you sigh:
These are the clouds about the fallen sun,
The majesty that shuts his burning eye.