Nine forty- three.
I look at the clock and that's all I see.
It wouldn't be so grim
If it didn't remind me.
But those three digits
Are the start of your phone number
And that lobs me back into a cycle
I never desired to enter again.

And the damaging memories don't resurface
Just the gleeful things manage to pull through.
And I find myself
Relearning to miss all that was you.

Her eyes were sullen, hollow, desolate.
Her skin worn thin.
Her bones, they trembled
With every step she took.
Her stomach was empty
Her hands frail as sin.
Still she tried
even though
she'd never be better again.

’Twas noontide of summer,
  And midtime of night,
And stars, in their orbits,
  Shone pale, through the light
Of the brighter, cold moon.
  ’Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
  Her beam on the waves.

  I gazed awhile
  On her cold smile;
Too cold—too cold for me—
  There passed, as a shroud,
  A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
  Proud Evening Star,
  In thy glory afar
And dearer thy beam shall be;
  For joy to my heart
  Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
  And more I admire
  Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.

It was like an orb
Growing in the pit or your stomach
Pushing away all the vital organs
Making it hard to live.

The parasitic bulb
Infuriating your body
Annihilating the temple you are.

And although it may seem foreign
This is keeping you alive.
The process is consuming you slowly
But gives you a reason not to relinquish.

This abomination inside of you
Is slowly waning
Eliminating your life supply
Coming up short
Taking away all you've ever known
Dragging you towards the land of the soulless.

What is this orb, you ask?
Well, simply put, it's love.