Another day passes without your calls,
my phone a false alarm
for eager minds.
Day and night blur through
the light dances in a frenzy as the months
Ten messages a week, just to see
if you’re okay
in the fields of sand
you need and hate.
Is it possible to melt into the flow
from flesh to be
Missing halves and pathetic coping
in the manner of
mannequin love and
Were my only way
A/N: this is just something I wrote while I was enduring hell week last year, to which
I am going through again this month. Then again, I might call it hell month, since I’m going to
Be swamped with papers and projects for the next three weeks. Ugh. Such is life, beautiful and awful at the same time.