Tired, the Creator

“November has your name now. You were a dream, lingering On the outskirts of my mind. I can’t recall your eyes, your face, Only remnants of happiness, An afterthought of what could have been. The last time I saw you smile, I didn’t speak to you for weeks. Sometimes I search for old conversations. I never find any. Perhaps that’s a good thing. The brightest days, You faded so slowly, gradually, I’m not sure when you vanished. This grief still sits like a stone in my chest, Lungs heavy with soot and ash– You set my world on fire, Left your matchstick homes alight. I think you cared, But everything has dissipated. It could have just as easily been a dream, Though sleep no longer finds me easily. How do I sin enough to find you again?”

You wash your neck when you leave

“Well baby, I’ve been alone for almost all my life, What makes you think that you could ever do me right.”

There’s no need to hide, don’t overreact You said you’ve been to the sky, We’ll go beyond that;  If you commit to this ride There’s no turning back