Stirring listless in bed under a patchwork of broken shade through moonlit blinds
It's 2 a.m.
My face has turned just as blue as the lunar white light as filtered by the night sky
Under the cold
I want you to know that even in growing old the trauma is ceaseless but I can't speak
My lungs imbued
Once with the strength of trees, pull in till my voice cuts, mute, and continue to squeeze
I see your face
Stir so listlessly close to mine, as if you were synchronized, and even closer with open eyes
We respirate

With the breath
From your kiss
Which you so lovingly demonstrate
Let us sleep, let us rust
Imbue me
With the hurt
That you so shamelessly share with me
Respirate

2 a.m.
Under cold
I feel your eyelashes slashing me
Let us crash, let us warm
The trauma
Is Ceaseless
The message is lost, I cannot speak
Both lungs squeeze