Half Past Four (2024)

Half past four,
spread across this torn up floor,
I grieve your once gentle hands.
What wouldn’t I give?
What wouldn’t I say?
To make you stay 
another day. 

Come lie here a while,
collect my tears 
in your cracked glass vile.
Place them on your memory shelf.
Only did this to myself.

Half past four,
spread across this torn up floor,
I crawl my way to what’s left of your voice.
Your sighs erode, reminding me softly
of how I never had a choice.

With arms as warm as I recall, 
lift me from the rubble.
Carry me away.
What wouldn’t I give?
What wouldn’t I say?
To make you stay
another day.

Half past four,
sink with me into this torn up floor.
And when the night is done,
take my tired, crooked hands.
Find me warmth from a new sun 
hidden somewhere in this wasted land. 

Feel me wither, watch me rot
as you tie my stomach 
into a thousand knots. 
Oh, my sweet friend,
I always knew 
you’d go away in the end. 

Copyright © 2024 by Amelia Horney. All rights reserved.