I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I am sick.

It is not in my blood or my bosom. It is just there, everywhere.

Every time I think, plan and decide.

Then, open I, my mouth and sigh.

I am hung-over on paralysis. I am high.

Choked, no words appear and rusted, my muscles have disappeared.

I cannot bring myself to look her in the eye.

I cannot talk and I do not cry.

I do not crane my neck to see what is it, that is so wrong.

But, when I am alone, I fear.

For only a dreadful dirge I can hear.

I have no excuses to give to myself but words that speak loud of somebody who was once so dear.

I know that I am wrong, yet I am not good enough with spoken words to speak the same.

I berate myself, console my broken heart, pick up the broken threads of a relationship, I had cut hard.

With scissors sharp in my hands, I had snapped a chord which can no longer be heard.

A jarring relationship, I survive every moment I breathe.

To me, an existence it seems in a life to lead.

Time as such, I know, will heal no wounds.

Unless, the hands of the clock I can wind to a time past for a treasure lost so soon.

It is dead and I hope, it will be gone as well.

This guilt in the vines of which I am bound.

It festers, festers like the wound it is.

A blow to my pride and all I want to do is apologise.

I know, courage is not something I have ever had.

Not when forgiveness is slack.

I hope, winds will carry these to you.

Words, they are unspoken,

But felt in a moment of despair,

all which wish is to convey,

how sorry I am

for having lost you,

in the clutter of the year.

*In memory of a shadow of something which is no more.*



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