It's okay, she says, and closes the door

A black spot on the ceiling the only distraction,

And when the lights go out with a mechanical whir

His silver eyes still stare.

Another sleepless night

Another orange sky

And bathed in sickly light

He is still beautiful.

Whispers from the other side of a heavy door

Shatter a tired reverie

As the new voice jolts his senses,

And his mind screams, it's him.

And maybe it was never there

Because why would he ever come?

But she would always return

Saying, it's okay.

Letting him out.

For a minute.

Because he always runs back in.

To dream of him.

Author's notes: I adore constructive criticism, and take it very much to heart, but flames will be used to light my proverbial cigarettes. I am fully aware that I should not plague the planet with my terrible attempts at poetry; thank you very much. I hope you enjoyed. If you didn't, I'm sorry for the half-minute I wasted of your life.

Love and angst,

Vivica