By Brittany Bennett
This here is my love,
Or shall I assume. She whispers
So my heart can resume. The thoughts
In my head
Scream loud and absurd. I lay here
On top my bed
Wished I could be cured. You arrive
With a smile,
A pen and a pad. You coax right on through
My petty denial.
You act as if glad, that I speak
Of her again.
I try to show you, you cross your chest
And mumble amen.
She is not new, she stands here
You nod your head, and jot down your
note and then flee.
I come out of my bed, and run
To the door,
Look back at my love, and look
Down to the floor.
My sweet morning dove, they will never
Get to grasp
How real you are, as long as you
Wear that mask.
I look at how far, you are down
And wish that once soon, this locked
Door will fall.