Games, rolling dice,
Which number will appear?
Surely not 12 2 25,
That’s impossible now.
My dice are cold,
Hardly warmed by being in the
Palm of my hand
– Much like you; hardly warm.
Is it really easier to not care?
Blocking you from my thoughts,
Turning a blind eye to my peripheral
Vision- Your shadow casting on my view.
It’s exhausting. Endless and constant,
Perhaps it would be easier to give in,
Let myself be consumed by tireless
Notions of you.
Still, I tell myself I don’t care,
Loud music playing in my ears,
Raise my middle finger to your
Ghost- As God knows I can’t touch you.