Cell phone and shot glass

Image by Steve Carpenter copyright 2012

I still pick up my phone every day,
at the same time you used to call,
I hold it close, knowing if it rings,
it will be someone else,
chiding myself for not letting go.

I lay, unmoving,
like an old dog beaten into submission,
then abandoned.
I am afraid to let anyone else touch me,
hoping you will come back for me,
knowing I will die where I lay.

I write poems as messages to you,
praying that one day you will read one
and something in it will remind you
of the love you once had for me.
Knowing you will never see them,
I post them anyway.


Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s