Just another mild distraction
Rubbing softly on the never
Healing sore that is I.
The dull pain never
Loses its flattering grip
And the putrid smell of
A little more into the convulsion
Of this aloneness.
One could almost miss being ignorant,
And one knows it is useless missing you.
So I trudge with my self
And your memories through the foul work
Of solitude that seems to be this
I conjure will through hope,
Continually moving forward though the circle,
Yet now I find it is time to rest,
Time to once again stop and look around,
Time to sit within the mess
And see what I can find.
It’s time to absorb for a bit.