twelve

it is now time to stand up and arise,
all the broken memories of sleep.
your coquettish nonchalance,
leaves me bewildered as i awake once more from the thrall of past time,
staining my conscious with guilt of days i cannot once more return to,
staring into the night, to find no breathing bodies beside mine,
finding no comfort in the rhythm of breathing of neither sleeping lover nor comrade,
and the ineradicable sense of forlornity, from both the world and myself, leaves me catatonic, unable to find purpose in uttering the words i wish to speak,
under that bridge, where we all once stayed,
but only i remain, convalescing in a makeshift cot under the highway that used to be yours.
and it still is, though you will never return, i'm afraid.