The sun marks an end to a day
I had rather left unlived
Concrete silhouettes mocking me
“Was she forever, or an accidental slip?”

In the absence of my answer
The choir of these whispers
Turns into a massacre of shrieks
I stop my heart from racing
Shut the gates of eyes
So the salt doesn’t seep

Then the edge of my roof
Where you used to smoke
Asks me for your touch
Your touch
Your touch
Your touch
Just ash, grit and dust
And I look at it in disgust
Like the ones who look at me
For the kindness that they lust
Has not healed
Not healed
Not healed


Amit Howard