I’d say I was entwined in hopefulness,
Yet my hope had left long ago and my fullness was quickly catching up.
I’d manicured, pedicured and lipped up.
I felt like a poorly made china cup.
My hollow insides craved the completeness, fullness, oneness of your presence.
Not even your touch.
Although it might help.
You wouldn’t call tonight like last night and the eve before.
You’ve not messaged since you met That…that whore.
I’ve forgiven you for her ways.
When I seek my reflection she’s both gone and stays.
Tonight’s the night.
I close the door on your shadow.
On your form.
On the unmade bed I’ve not used since it was warm.
You still smell so concrete.
A stability, so just.
I cannot forgive the emptiness
And yet….I must.
Copyright G.P Williamson 2015