Blight

I planted my misery
Deep in the ground, hoping it
Would die and leave me in peace

Instead it blighted my crops
Withered my orchard, left me
Desolate, dry and barren

Tangled Webs

What am I To you?
A secret smile?
A guilty pleasure?
Or nagging burden?
The weight of your sins
Prolonging your grief

What am I to me?
An object of pride?
Or subject of scorn?
The butt of a joke?
What I try and hide
But cannot escape

What are you to me?
A moment’s daydream?
A light in the dark?
Possible future?
Or delusion to
Ease longing’s dull sting

I wander this world in

Search of who I was, who I

Could have been, my missing piece.

We only see each

Other through frosted

Glass, shapes and colors

I tell myself that if I

Could hold you for only a

Moment more, I would be healed.

This is only a

Poor substitute for

A real, vital life

Talking to you is just such

A waste of time, yet I keep

On doing it and feel worse

The narcissism of your

Depression debilitates

Me, drains me of love for you