Ripped in two by your pain.
Blown silent by your unfolding.
And the hollow mystery of where you’re going.
Shocked, burnt and waiting..

And smells and sounds that grate like life.
And the quiet, profound silences.
Feeling bad because of me.
When this should be about you.

When night-time minutes and hours mean nothing,
The invisible massive sighs and changes.
All breathing gone, now alone, I sit shaking
In that slow and stupid morning.

A day of cars and calls.
Of paper thin thoughts and emptiness.
Of whispering.
You gone.