24th August 2010

there is a small beauty in listening to a dwindling atmosphere of
close-to-nothingness,

yet in a space close to hear you feel so far away -
physically close, but I feel the distinct bitterness
that separates us even at a platonic level
hearing another voice, ever so familiar,

I still remember,
I will doubt that you forget.

I’d imagine it playing, it -
the scene of a life of lies -
ending it in an honest tragedy.

should it be my fault I almost wish it upon my self to
make you feel every bit of pain I do -
am I selfish?
am I wrong?

is everything I perceive of you just something you were
          feigning all along?
when will you speak?
                    and will you lie?
                    or am I hanging onto something that
                    has long meant goodbye?

what was this for?
why am I lost?

is the end I am fearing — something of cost ——

I thought, surely,
                    there was you,
but now I think, blindly,
                    now there’s nobody.