My bed is warm where you left it, bathed in the after glow of adverse feelings because it was Just shy of real, just this side of something. I let you touch my lonely body, but you won't touch my soul, you couldn't if you tried. I should cry for giving up, but tears will not come. I've passed the point of feeling. No one will know me.
Death is silence.
Before he hurried to get dressed not noticing how he'd violated me suddenly, unexpectedly. That image haunts me, and robbed me of my innocence. I am timidly hoping with bewildered patience. But for one brief moment, we share obscurity, Then you are schizophrenic in your affections I want to deny the truth but you were looking right into me. If reality wasn't so warped a wave of sense would wash over me leaving a peaceful tranquillity in my soul.