You sit
You sit in your
Chamber of Solitude
where only you know the secrets
you keep in there.

You sit
You sit there, moping
about how alone
you are.

You sit
You sit and stare
at the empty chamber
cobwebs forming on
cold crystal and in
damp archways.
Everything is covered;
everything is gray.

You don’t
You don’t know
the sun is shining,
that rays meet the Earth
in a warm embrace

You would
You would rather sit,
in your cold, gray world
even when
my warm, tan arms
are wrapped around you.
Even when I hold you
within my pulsating heart.

You sit
You sit beside me
present, but so far
in the dark, icy cave
you believe matches
your soul.
The one I can see
peeking from behind
the threadbare curtain
the one you treat
like an iron door
welded in place.
But I see

You with
You with your healed wounds
that ooze with blood because
you won’t stop scratching.
I see

You, the
You, the fawn,
lost in the woods
searching for the doe
who now presides
over someone’s mantle.
I see

You with
You with the heart that beats
and the soul yearns
and dreams that
would fly… but
your hand
grips tightly,
afraid to let them

You and
You and your tormented soul,
the one that texts
late at night
after that bottle of whiskey
to tell me
“I love you”
before fading into the fog
for another six months,
is no longer,
no, nor never has been,
my problem.


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