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paul-glottamanPoems
Every fear I possess, every lie I can attest, and here I stand, head held low, until I clutch my heart in death throe. Alone in an empty room, I can recover here, heal as healing dictates. But here, in this safe, still place, I can smell you. I can always smell you. But kept from the truth, in these waning years of my youth, I can reach past it, through it, and into you. From there, I hope, you can feel me, too. In life, we are told, there is hope. I would trade an eye for half a chance to see you. My love, these hours keep us, alone and apart, My love, I know you, my work of art. How you thwart, my cleverest, my sweetheart. my attempts at recovery. My love, how I envy.
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Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
Recover.
Every fear I possess, every lie I can attest, and here I stand, head held low, until I clutch my heart in death throe. Alone in an empty room, I can recover here, heal as healing dictates. But here, in this safe, still place, I can smell you. I can always smell you. But kept from the truth, in these waning years of my youth, I can reach past it, through it, and into you. From there, I hope, you can feel me, too. In life, we are told, there is hope. I would trade an eye for half a chance to see you. My love, these hours keep us, alone and apart, My love, I know you, my work of art. How you thwart, my cleverest, my sweetheart. my attempts at recovery. My love, how I envy.
Written by
paul-glottaman
40/American
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
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