Here I sit in tears
Here I live with regret
Why did I do it ?
Was it worth it ?
Maybe Yes
Maybe No
Either way **nothing can change the past

I am not quite sure what to say.
My lips cannot move into the right ways to speak even the wrong words.

The edges, the pockets of my mind is terribly creased.
The dizzying criss-cross of lines and crumples
paint hopelessness
into
tears.

I miss the very susurrations your being makes,
when you were next to me.
Even on sun-dappled days,
I still feel the ghost of your shoulders & elbows nudging mine.

My collarbones still feel the lines of your lips right

                                                               ­                                    t here.
My soul miss and misses yours.
But I do know,
this is
a
void
that
will only
become
space and time
*itself.

He was a poet,
She his poetry.

He was a crooner,
She his melody.

He was a painter,
She his masterpiece.

He was a monk,
She his inner peace.

He was a captain,
She his ship.

He was an admiral,
She his fleet.

He was a laddie,
She his missy.
. . .
. .
.
Now there's no more she.
Forlorn is he.

W e e p i n g.
G  n  a  s  h  i  n  g.
W   a   n   d   e   r   i   n   g.

Stripped of...
**"E    v    e    r    y    t    h    i    n    g"