You said: believe that it will get better,
but I don’t believe in much anymore,
aside from the warm breath
against the back of my hand
clawing at an empty space
on the pillow beside me still.

Here, amidst the dark of it all
I am a tidal torrent of thought,
and sometimes it takes everything
to keep myself from drowning.

You, you are a distant shore
upon which my waves
shall never wash again.
I am an ocean of angst
always away from you,
and my waters fade to grey
with the dawn of each new day.

Chichester, February 2017


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