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.


In your manipulative hand

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