Cold hearted, cold.
Sad and lonely.
Wishing, wishing,
But not daring enough.
Wanting, wanting,
But not daring...
Yearning, yearning,
But not...
Pining, pining,
But...
Like the smell of the woods,
the pale colour of stone,
I am locked within myself, wasted away.
I dare not breathe in case I burst.
Locked away as I am,
Tucked up, rolled over, forgotten,
Carefully packaged away in dust,
in the entrails of my carefull, claustral heart.
