and it gets harder to breathe when the only thing keeping                                                            
me alive is an hallucination of
your fingertips that trace patterns
down my spine
when i awake to find coldness
by my side, embracing me
with its trendils that should have been your
arms. so i heave a sigh as i
try to live with dead weight limbs that
drag me down, and it gets
harder when i search the crowds
for your face, knowing that i'd never
catch the slightest glimpse of my safe haven again
and i try (unsuccessfully) to soothe the stinging
wound of knowing that you left
without saying goodbye.

what use to be our place is now taken over
people who were once just like us seeped through the cracks
and polluted the air like creeping trendils of smoke and vile ideas.

Ideas thrown up like simply created graffiti
not always welcome but interesting to wonder about in the silence
ideas of the future, of what we could do if we put our minds to it.

Feelings that got interrupted on one side
but disregarded on the other
left to drift apart rather then sail together.