I want to cry in the mourning of something I have not yet lost.
I live constantly concerned that the destructive actions of my soul that commence,
Like a reflex not simply in my body,
But somewhere so submerged in my fragile being and conscience
I cannot and do not manage to withhold the wreckage
Within me once it begins to emerge...
I will tarnish the things that have been my cradle,
My sanctuary of happiness and level headedness.
Interpreting your every move, almost anxious for any
Give away signs of lost hope, lost lust, lost companionship
Despite the metaphor of its definition,
Companions you cannot be over miles of land and sea...
It’s as if all this space between us is at retracting magnet ends,
Or a snow storm battling a deserts sand swoops.
Yet, throughout all of my own battles of emotion...
I secretly know you are in blissful ignorance, for you do not
feel time should be kept anywhere, least of all in a waistcoat pocket.