July 14, 2025
The seconds hand is an aching needle,
pushing deeper into my conscience
with every passing second.

One span is enough to measure my despair—
twice is enough to **** me ten times over.

I'm tired.
Why won't this day end?

I want to lay my head on the pillow
just to span the time that's left
by skipping it.

Are you real?

Were you real?

You were the only bud

that flowered in my garden

of misery.

I longed for the season that

brought you into bloom.

My sweet perfection—

my agonizing suffering.

Why have you forsaken me?

Don’t you understand

I hurt you

so you could hurt me back?

Now I am alone again—

my life in perpetual limbo.

I find myself

grazing the edge of life

for a ****** that may never arrive.

I jump from bus to bus

seeking an empty seat,

where I sit and reminisce your absence,

from my heart in absentia.

Who will gape the spout in my aorta?

Who will stop the senseless bleeding?

Winter came—and your petals fell.

I weep and weep, watering a plant

that is long gone.

I miss what I never had.

I miss what I could have had.

Goodnight my sweet.