Do you know what it is like,
to lie in bed awake;
with thoughts to haunt
you every night,
of all your past mistakes.

Knowing sleep will set it right -
if you were not to wake.

When did you stop caring? he asked.
When did you start noticing? she replied.

Every letter
that she types;
every keystroke
that she strikes-

To spell your name
again and again,
is all she ever
wants to write.

Reasons"

I wish I knew why he left. What his reason were. Why he changed his mind.

For all these years, I have turned it over in my head—all the possibilites—yet none of them make any sense.

And then I think, perhaps it was beacause he never loved me. But that makes the least sense of all.

She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.

For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry.

There is safety in numbness–
there is solace
in sleep.