i play her hologram on a constant loop as the emptiness threatens to drown me
i cannot touch her but i pantomime slow dancing in the side room
i cannot hear her but imagine what the sound of her voice whispering to me is like
the haze of dust floating through her lit up form is soothing in an odd way
she laughs in ones and zeros across the binary synapses of my tired brain
i’ve forgotten what it means to be held except for the brief moments as my hand slips through her
the warm glow of suffocating desire projected from the ceiling onto the sheets
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
Apologise for my constant capitalising on your sadness…=(
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nah. there is an exquisite beauty in sorrow. one that demands to be seen. i am just happy that the fool’s words resonate with anyone. sometimes it feels like talking to ceiling.
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I am a sucker for tragedy and anything sad…hence i try writing the opposite to prevent drowning
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your words have been a preserver for me. keep doing what you do.
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Yes Sir!
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This is unusually beautiful! You have done it again!
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it feels sad to me, but thank you. i’m glad you enjoyed it.
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