People have their own lives,
Updates become a due,
Death cuts down all time,
Then time must move on, too.
Offers of help get quieter,
(Thankfully in a way):
Sympathy visits for moments
It doesn’t intend to stay.
In the end, it’s always you,
While everyone falls asleep;
You lie awake and breathe
And dread to dream too deep.
Dreams terrify me!
You enter with different names
And my mind uses them
To play terrible games.
I’m tired; because i’m hounded
By the hours of sleep I get.
(And trust my heart:
It just really wants to forget.)
Weary, worn out and wasted,
Tears have long since dried;
But the emptiness alone,
Reminds me I haven’t yet died.
I will place the Laurel wreath,
I will put up the green tree,
I will laugh with concerned friends,
And that’s just what you will see.
The tears I shed for us,
At each breaking of dawn,
Won’t be placed in the crib,
You bought from Bandra town.
The wrenching of my heart
Succumbing to sorrow
Will not be baked in cakes
I order tomorrow.
There will be the advent,
There’ll be carols and cheer;
But all will be aware
You chose not to be here.
There will be frost and ice;
At home, all that is nice;
But, in my heart and head,
I’m crucified instead.
Hearts Still Care 
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