an m. (e) d.

leave the pockets of day untouched

that blush the private collections of your hands

drifting deep in me

to find bits to repair yourself

though i make it difficult

by wanting to hold your heavy head

and tell you that

it is okay it is okay it is okay

you are you are you are

no matter the devastation that brought you here

weeping darkness

filling up with the pain of being that grows until numb

where the pockets become overturned

and you begin to tear

first the heart for all life bleeds there

then the brain for i think therefore you are

back to me repeating a memory of what will be

which is mostly you there standing

with most of me

my better parts

that make you whole again

i believe i am happy

though that may have been taken too