Baby, why'd you go? You left me here shrinking to disease, sinking toward a unending upending.
Muscles tear away, leaving bone and blood to fend for themselves. A warmth I knew acts a stranger, an odd addition wanting to leave when no one is looking. On a bench, in a place that should have none: concrete cushion, stealing heat and leaving a sobering chill. I look at the spectacle of alone, sore thumb is too small for this. Its like they know, and distance themselves.
I can take this though, nothing new. I can see an end to this end, and an opening in my optimistic imaginings. Nonetheless, that simple pain that is lodged between valves, that feeds on the body's breathing, is a burden that wears...