Poetry · Writing

seared wrist

you should be here

it wasn’t supposed to be like this

the warmth of your core, melted me.

So far apart the burn marks have faded

i am here you are there we’re so isolated

when did everything turn and become so jaded.

i don’t know

just a little while ago we sang a different tune

did it on our own needed no help no auto-tune

and i hold our mark

still on my wrist- i see you everyday

maybe i enjoy the whips across my back.

waitin’ for the torch to come back

it’s been winter for far to long


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