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 Dec 2010 Fred McCarthy
 Dec 2010 Fred McCarthy
This morning i made you a cup of coffee before you woke up.
I wanted you to feel that i still love you as much as i did.
You ignored my coffee that was waiting for you for some sips before you left for work.

You missed the bus again.
I walked right behind you, listening to you cursing the day and your high heels.
I touched your red hair and i could not feel its softness against my skin.
You turned around and looked through me.
I knew you could feel me.
I knew you knew i was around.
But you kept walking and i heard you telling yourself to move on.

As night grows darker i feel your pain.
You cry in the dark of our room, whispering my name.
How much you miss me everyday.
Everytime you hear the sound of rain.
Everytime you see morning dew on the window...
You think of me...

I am trapped forever between the lines of universe.
I do not possess my awareness of time and space anymore.
But i still have you in my weak indistinct mind.
A ghost is all i am to you.

My love...
My vague presence is torturing me.
I can not feel the warmness of your skin anymore.
If i could travel a billion light years away to embody my presence just to touch you for the last time...
I would...

Here in the dark you linger...
Reaching out into the night...
Tracking the last drops of my last days with you...

If only you saw...
If only you heard...
If only you felt...

If only you knew...

*I am here...
I hold my heart in cupped hands.
Offering it to you only.
You hold it in your hands for a while, thinking.
You smell it and throw it ******* the cold floor unmercifully.

''Sorry! It's not heavy enough'' you say.
I pick my heart up off the floor as i watch you walking away.
she sleeps
the moon was her mother
telling her bedtime stories
and I
was a night light

let the monsters slip
back into the imaginations
and we shall sleep

god holds us like blanket

the white sheets warp you like a ghost
I was her ghost
her light

shining only to love her
only so she can sleep
again and again and again

that she was

her dreams
they cry
but she still breaths

though she maybe
Along the shore
       fall the waves--
                and hiss
                       and hiss
                              and hiss.
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson. All rights reserved.

— The End —