Mornings

You were so sad in the morning. Pale beams of orche light wrapped around your gentle agony twisted brow. An axe of your innber lobe pounding incessant questions, doubts, fears. Constantly renting into your skull. You'd twist yourself against your comforter clinging to the softness you'd try to not realease whimpers. Slow tears you'd try to hide by suffocating emotion into the worn pillow that you've had since childhood. I'd cry with you... Try to hold you.. Yet, my own faults feathered your bitter illness. You'd whisper, " Don't even bother" as you'd push me away.