Lies I tell myself
about you, about us,
Whispers of neglect
are now screams that echo
against bathroom walls,
My canyons of you.

Crashing winds of water
erupting from windows to souls,
Now a blanket made of stone.

Waves of him
now washing up ashore,
Of a past
never far but close,
But closed.

Rigid, no longer warm but cold
soon you’ll melt, don’t burn
into a past
into ashes of whispers of neglect,
Just not yet
now is much too soon,
Much too soon to leave,
Love.

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