Retch

I’m thinking of you now…and it’s a slow burn,
A kind of fire that won’t start, lots of smoke,
But nothing real, nothing to ignite inside.

The thoughts of you are broken, smouldering,
They are shuddered by three thousand kilometres
And a funeral; which wrecked and wept.

You watch me from a safe distance, as I report
And retch, you go about the things that are life
I’m alive, I feel you existing somewhere.

Retch

childbride

Joined December 2007

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