Poetry

My sweet tortured love

My sweet tortured love

The dreaded tick tock, tick tock of the clock. It crys out in the
blaring silence. I cannot sleep. I lay back on the cushiony pillows nustled
so snug in my blankets. I am so content, yet so tortured. The valium has set
in and I have a sweet surrender about my body. I wonder how long it will
last. I hope forever. I love the sweet feeling. Candy coated fake temporary
happiness because nothing can touch me now. I clutch the phone in my hand-in
the dark. I will it to ring yet it does not. My legs are sore and my red hair
keeps growing like wild fire. I just want to hear his voice. His voice is
real and true and produces genuine happiness from within me. Not candy coated
fake stuff. He loves my ragged hair, and I'm sure if he was here my legs
wouldn't matter. They would be wrapped around his body. The phone does not
ring though. I am left alone with my thoughts and dingy walls with spider
like cracks. The fish tank needs cleaned. He would be so disapointed. He is
not here though. He is fighting. More miserable than I will ever know. I can
see him now decked out in his camoflague, gun in hand, twisted face, chilled
limbs. He is so brave. I wish he could break me off some courage. I really
need it now. I lay useless in my bed. I have to work in 3 hours. I have not
slept. Poor love of mine. That is all I can think. Hes more tortured than a
cat with no claws or a dog with no growl. Only 3 more months untill hes back.
Can I handle it? Of course, I have to. I have diminished to a deaf mute doll
lately. The world carries on all around me. I am in this world, but I hardly
feel like it. Days swirl by and I remain cold as stone. No smiles over here.
I try to think positive, but I emit such pain that I think the whole world
got a taste of it. I operate like a robot with rigidness, calculated and
controlled steps. I'm blank as the other side of white paper. I break down. I
cry. If only Matt could hold me. He must hold his gun for now though. I try
to tell myself the world needs him more than I do, but I feel selfish and
dismiss the thought and continue lamenting my sorrows inside. If only he
would walk through my door. . . right now. Wouldn't that be glorious? Then
the world could feel my joy rather than my pain. He could join my dingy walls
and make it all dissapear. I must wait though. For now I'm left with the
fish-Simon, and I think I'll clean his tank.


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