You

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

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

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

You
You would
You would rather sit,
alone,
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
You sit
You sit beside me
present, but so far
away
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
You with
You with your healed wounds
that ooze with blood because
you won’t stop scratching.
I see

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

You
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
soar.

You
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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