deepundergroundpoetry.com
Vigil
I lay awake
in a soft-light state
thinking of all the voices
that had come and gone
the good ones that stayed
how their memories echoed
through amber streetlight
barely shadows in the dark.
I think of him
the curve of his accent
covering old wounds
in new bandages
how I missed him
in poetry and photographs
that no-one really knows
except me
the sacred vessel
the empty shell
waiting to be filled
by a word, a look,
an apology that
never comes.
Pain is a skin suit
it dresses me in bruised clothes
worthy of nothing but the dance
I step silently into, barefoot
where nobody watches
as I stare at a cold ceiling
clutching my vacant womb
wishing to climb back
inside the stars
beyond those hands
beyond this tomb
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