No King At the Throne
I lay there and I listened
to every sound that came through the night:
the floorboards creaking,
the wind blown window blinds beating against the metal window frame,
the scuttling of rodents in the roof,
the odd disconcerting sound that I could not identify
I pressed my face into my pillow,
slowing my breathing,
whilst the pillowcase soaked up my tears,
my forehead burning hot.
“It hurts,” I thought,
and with that thought another memory of him filled my mind
and my pillowcase,
drenched and pressed against my hot face,
began to feel like a hot wet cloth
I was thirsty,
but unmotivated to care for myself
I had lost all ambitions to live a life worthy
of being alive
Once we parted,
I began living each day,
as a day to be spent and forgotten,
nothing had meaning,
and nothing felt passionate.
“I will never leave you,”
were words we had often exchanged;
yet words we never lived up to
“I am already gone,”
were words I had used to leave him,
and he let go
No promise kept of “I am always here.”
I never let another man in
to what I considered his kingdom
I was a queen with no king,
at my throne
I lay there,
silently begging him to come back,
knowing that after all I had done,
if he were to return it would be,
at his own will
and with each passing year,
I lay there
and I listened to every sound that came through the night
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