In the curated conjecture of thoughts and emotions, the heart seeks refuge only in its own desires.
If only now you could remember, as I fell further away. Please, don’t say … the things that hurt.
outside my window … beyond the last penned poem
– i see what I can only feel
a sense of disillusionment …
and it is here
– in the world of my own making
that I can no longer provoke a sense of place within this …