“I’m Talking to the Lunatic in the Mirror!”

The early morning hours taunt

until obsession takes over.

Air is so hard to come by 

when worry wanders into minds eye. 

Where is the girl in the photograph

I don’t remember tears.

Time has a firm grip

and the mirror is a cut-throat and a liar.

I am angry with you.

A Rain Day in a Green Field Full of Sheep, on the Southern Shore of Irealand.

It came cascading down,

as cold as the flame that had drowned in her eyes

a long time ago.

Wrong Number?

When I called for you, you didn’t here me.

I was scared and alone, you didn’t hear me.

when I was lost, you didn’t hear me.

You knew I would understand.

understand to read between the lines.

Did you forget me?

I stopped calling for you.

Listen to me. . .