can hardly open
anymore
a long day
long hours
spent
thinking of you
your soft skin
against my cheek
your smell fills my senses
even though...
you're not here
can i clutch tight
to these small tokens
things left
forgotten
in my room
hold them
feeling their
you-ness
nothing like
your soft skin
against my cheek
it is a stale scent
although welcome
plenty.
ectomorphing endomorphs burn paper for warmth in asylum beds while wondering where their mothers are no one to help you now the white walls scream not like there ever was
7.19.2005
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