I lay awake late at night
imagining lines  
of poetic passion to the beat
of my heart, and the patter
Of rain
soaking my clothes in sorrow.

I watch the thin words flow,
testament to my writings suicide
hearts broken on the verse of my words.
She is embedded in this verse
and can hear the whispering words
crying lullabies and wishes
in the form of words.
where reluctantly they,
on tear-stained paper are born.

there is no offer of salvation
as I drown in my thoughts of her words,
just to bleed her sound from my soul
I reproduce such tasteless tears
to keep my eyes weeping.
Page after page I re-create
my heartbroken dreams.

Onward her memory drives me,
Imploring for just a second to herself,
that maybe my poetry,
will not be the only thing secreted
during such late nights
when she found herself alone.