you refuse my sadness

you refuse my sadness,

and call it


at best,

an opportunity

to create

more distance


and you fall asleep

to carry it with you,

all the space in between :

it is viscous,

not sweet like

honey or syrup

but thick like

your congested cough,

something heavy in your chest,

not sad like a heart,

but dense like a clog that

someone put

right there

on purpose


my eyes water

at the wind

of this height,

a fall so

abrupt and new and fast

that she is almost gone too

and look at

me i am

so rational that

i can no longer understand the difference

between a page / a poem / a song

between a pill / a prayer / and trying to keep your interest


i wish / i knew / how to

weep a bit louder, because

i was hoping / you’d be able / to hold me -


- across the distance // she

takes a nap

when i cry


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© 2018 by D. Inez "Z" Bell