
I’ve looked at you too many times
your face froze in the concrete of my brain forever
your passport, cherished, hidden in an inside pocket, made me realise it
that you are the best citizen of this world
unchangeable like the taste of bread
always with you on the trail;
I should wash every thing you touched
because your scent is still here, locked in place
where I waited for my death
it will show up eventually
if not today or tomorrow, then someday
and I will be alone
not valued by anyone
not even by the person who wanted me in this world
and then my suppression of all real love
I’ve ever felt for anyone
it led me to nothingness, nothingness at all;
your emaciated figure
as thin as a rake man
in front of me, following me in my dreams
I still can’t get over it; you are far up the hill
without seeing and hearing you, everything seems dead
I have to cultivate a mental image of you in my head
tension-relieving, close to depression
always at the lowest level of continuity
-
for M.
-
(2022 – 2023)
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About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insight
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters

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