Before you find yourself gasping
for breath at 3:27 in the morning
In the conformity of your makeshift
bed sheet fortress that you've built up
like the barriers that stand around your heart
Wondering how it is possible to
drown without water
Remember that as you run your
fingers over a photograph
That this changes nothing
That staring at a torn and
many times too folded map of the world
Serves about as much purpose
as it did when you stared into his eyes
and hoped to see yourself in there
Or when he slept and you cried
and half of you did not
want to wake him
but the other half desperately
wanted some part of his soul
to know despite his current state
of consciousness that
you were dying inside
But this changes nothing
Because that was then and
this is now,
and the world doesn't wait for anyone.