At 02:16

She lies still
with the crescent moon as her inspiration
in becoming numb.
Her blanket is tousled on her body,
the wind blows tenderly at her side.
Her eyes are leaking.
Leisurely she moves to face the opposite
as uneven fondles scratch her memory.
She drowns in bitter tears.
She sighs to release her desolation..
A hazy diorama unfolds the distant past
in which her memory has preserved.
Nothing has made her as frail
as to how the ache kept stinging.
And so she continues to be awake
inside her discordant soul,
with the tangled sheets wrapping her.

yes, you are all i think about.