In the
gamble of everyday
Between what
is lost and what is left
I was washed
with your flame
Summoned by
your voice
And taken by
your hunger
But now your
words are a trickle
From a
broken ceiling.
I was woven
In your
story
Lonely as a
room
Empty as a
house
Made into a
home, and
Now I’m a
shore
Where the
waves only recede.
I’m tired of
writing you
Like a road
That goes
nowhere
I’m weakened by singing
You like a
song
That you
can’t hear.
