These excuses to cry-

my eyes have not seen you yet.

I can't see you

past this veil that is

vanishing

and

vanquishing me from the locked box inside your heart.

My mind is closed to all other thoughts,

to all other ways of going about these circumstances.

But the tears that I cry night after night

are only

for you

and the worth that I placed so highly upon the idea of us.

I am in a trance

laid low

beneath your soul

where the turbulence of tempests and your hands breath bereavement into me

faster then a knife

faster then the gun placed in my direction.

I look for you

laid low out here

as though your hand could uplift me

and not break me.

I whisper,

I scream

but my lips are merely sirens

understandable

only in terms of you

and the pain that you are getting out of all of this.

You once compared me to an owl

with my hate of daylight

and my paramour with the night

you once said that I was good

pure

clean thing

to place your hands upon

but oh how the dust has collected on my skin sense you left me.

How the bruises

and scratches

like a rash

stretch out

but unlike the other times

they do not leave a path for me to follow upon.