Though relentless, and pressing more force than the seasons
i find myself duplicating the fumbling crawl
that lead to blank years.

god himself points
at the flaws i have yet to efficiently name
and the words of the deity sing deafening tones in this soft amber light

upon reflection, and listening to the half-cocked droning,
circumstance’s absence creates a vacuum
directly beneath my fidgeting heart.

and you’re right.
and you don’t have to think of me,
and i don’t want you to see me this way

and you’re right.
the glory that you find in me
will fade.

sepia tones do a good enough job
of fixing our breath in place
and i can taste the anguish you hide yet

though i will suffer like priam’s daughter
there are parts of me that try
but who fall ever further into the sludge on my shoulders.

i miss you so badly
is that why my brain feels like it has fused together?
or is it because i’ve been idle too long?

i know only this anymore:
i’m just wasting time.
and none should be wasted on me.