At 4:40 am I sat alone in my bed
and embraced the thought of you
that rapped me gently across the knuckles
The night seemed distant now
and the dawn took years to arrive
The dawn of a new gloom
The dawn of my end
The black hand of sorrow
That pulled me out of each dream I made
to keep even the faintest smell of you alive
You weren't there to hold my hand
or to be sorry.
At 4:40 am I thought of you much
and the front wall swallowed my sobs
love was the last item on my shelf
It was coagulated and nasty now
I picked it up and placed it by the door
Perhaps the approaching sun could burn away
all the impurity, injustice and adulteration
of what we held in high esteem
and kept sacred with our illusory reasoning.
the thought of you faltered into a tear
and I knew our story was at an end.