Wednesday, October 17, 2012

My Friend.

Moths in my chest flutter then stop
Their sweet, sticky tongues
flickering long out to chomp on
the carcass that throbs there unsteady 

Removing it would be of no consequence
for it's already in shreds, useless
yet the dull ache of it lets one know 
that the rest of the body lives on 

Days of staring, holding devices
That are meant to connect
But I'm only divided...
Where are you my friend

Did you brush my hair
Did we look at the stars
Yet even then I was looking on us
As beloved memories from afar

Full with missing and heavy with desire.

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