There’s a void in my heart shaped like you.
When your scent fades from my bedsheets,
I sputter like a car without fuel. Without you,
it’s hard to keep going.

Tip toe quietly, Mommy sleeps
after her special drinks,
all crimson.

The pink fruit of my imagination
peeks out at me as I peel
away the thick outer skin.

I wish Mommy would wake and play.

Dark liquid smells like
the bandages on my scrapes. Bitter
Sweet voices sing
away sorrows and scraped knees.

Mommy wakes
angry at the noise of my playing.

I think of days gone
Before.

Mommy in the garden
singing to the sun.

Daddy watching.

Orange-pink globes hang
then fall.

The words have gone—
Fleeing like refugees from a war-torn mind,
Like stars receding from the quickly rising sun.

A pen weighs heavily between my fingers—
Burdened, full with the ink of words unsaid.

White paper shouts—accusing, judging
With its brillance—a vast, vacant space.

Pressure builds—
The desire to create, to share...

The restless tapping of my pen
Mimicks the anxious rhythm of my shoe.