Tired Gamble

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.