rubbish

The gaps between the rings grow longer,

while the silence in the room rings louder,

louder than the static in this one connection.

Hours pass in irrelevance,

minutes drag into lifetimes

as I stretch across the width of the empty bed:

my sea, my sand

(while I am accused of being a prude)

at such great distance.

How can I find the strength

when I am forever becoming smaller,

wishing upon every last scrap of attention

to get me through each day?

The shame of self-pleasure

as I brim over with the weight of absence:

(I now prefer the rain that falls and veils

to the starkness of the sun that finds every wrinkle and blemish)

a degradation to this thing that should be yours

but for my own silly worthlessness.