Absence.

I’d like to pretend that the ever growing presence of glooming darkness doesn’t latch onto my ever fracturing soul like a child does their moms absence.

But sometimes I can’t help but to lurk within the damp atmospheric depths of neglect.

To suffocate in the aroma of what could have been, makes healed bruises shine like the purple of a ripe grape on a spring filled, dewy, Mundane morning.

So please when I say hold me.

Don’t let go.

And hold me tight.

So I can feel a little less consumed by the empty spaces of nurturing comfort that engulf my brain.

I just need a little assistance with the recreation of what affection means. A little light, to make my nights a little bit more bearable than before.