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Hours
My love, the hours.
How they arrest me
Lamp light seeps
Through the shutters of my room
On and off
I toss and turn in my bed
I no longer wait for you.
I wait only for the next tick
Of a repetitive clock
I watch the stars like eyes
Look down upon me,
With pity.
They are free,
But I can never be free.
So long as my soul
Has it in for you.
I am done for,
By my own illness
The white-wash of
A drained, pumping heart.
Pulsating
In your manipulative hand
