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.