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.
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