less to say.

the curtains draw clean to a close, a gash is stitched pristine

the light is best in the studio, 

in the morning.

up all hours, heart stares back literally.

with only time to waste, wasting precious time

coming,

to the end of an era 

greet the deceased,

with nothing sentimental,

in conjunction, we'll never be complete.

fuck, I.

a life.

"Am I dreaming?"

"No, you're awake now"

"You'd left, left me, left our city. You took a train to Tokyo"

"I don't plan to go, haven't thought much about Tokyo.  Haven't thought much about anyone, anywhere, for that matter"

"Oh"

I am empty. I am listless.

an emphatic denial.

You'll heal, 

They'll be no need for me to lick your wounds.  

They'll be no need for me to dream a life.

The equivalent to fools gold.

and, left the fool,

I'd wait for you in every city.

You'll never show, You'll never shine.

You'll find another to collect the goods I waited years to savour.

Languid in my lowliness.

I am empty. I am listless.

manifest

the fear instills itself.  

some mornings I make toast and watch the glowing box glow.  

some days I stare at the ground, the ceiling, the sink.

time passes with nothing on it's mind.  

people forget I live and breathe.

I forget to live, to breathe.

I am a room, only an object.

I am, objectively, alive.

impartial to the hour, a loss of significant flavor.

I am sexless, loveless, I burn cold.

I watch our plants grow, through unaware of their progression.

their height.

What you see is my reflection,

the manifestation of a woman.