2 am,
you slept,
knees curled in towards your chest,
a ball,
trying to protect the fragile bones
lying there.
3 am,
you cried,
gripped your pillow tight,
begged for the lost to come back.
4 am,
you showered,
cleaned the sweat from your
achy limbs.
tried to scrub
the sadness from your hair.
5 am,
you made tea,
looked at a picture of them,
and wept.
6 am,
you walked,
flowers in one hand,
a book of poems in the other.
7 am,
you kneeled like a pastor
besides their grave,
prayed for deliverance,
prayed to see their eyes,
just once more.
8 am,
you read to them,
love stories,
you told them about your adventures,
and how you aren't doing so well.
9 am,
you slept with your hands
dug in the dirt,
wishing you could dig them out
and hold them in your arms.
10 am,
you gathered your things,
and walked back alone.
11 am,
you flopped yourself on the bed,
you wished you were dead.
(Transferring my poems from poetfreak to here)
This is a poem about someone very dear to me who passed away a few years ago. Being without them feels terrible