Things that complete my life

It’s the tearing sound of love notes.

 Drowning out these gray stained windows, and the view outside is sterile.

 And I’m only two cubes down.

 I’d photocopy all the things that we could be, if you took the time to notice me.

 But you can’t now, and I don’t blame you.

 And it’s not your fault that no one ever does.

 But you don’t work here anymore. It’s just a vacant three by four. And they might fill your place, a temporary stand-in for your face.

 This happens all the time, and I can’t help but think I’ll die alone.

 So I’ll spend my time with strangers, a condition and it’s terminal.

 In this water-cooler romance, and it’s coming to a close.

 We could be in the park and dancing by a tree, kicking over blades we see, or a dark beach with a black view, and pin-pricks in the velvet catch our fall

imprisonedphilosopher:

I think I’m going down
it feels as if I am

          sinking

beneath the waves
and try as I might 
this world is closing in
as my sight

            simultaneously

expands
                     and caves 

and all goes dark
against an infinite brightness