Oh yes,
it's Wednesday and another workday,

maybe a TV series called
Midweek Murders
is called for,

outside
the sidewalks are icy,
perhaps ice is the council's way of
thinning the herd,
they could have used grit.

I never know what say  

a memory of longing
is painful as it keeps

decaying in my chest

putting my love on paper
doesn't take it away
it amplifies the sting
trying to move on

infecting the open cavity of my being

you read my words like you understand
but I'm lost in a memory of what would have been

trying to collect shattered pieces of my own self

emptied and dancing whisked into the shadows
like the end of a dream

feverishly waking up because my feelings weren't received

give them but don't get them
like as if I sent a letter of longing

never in return