Wednesday, 22 October 2014

Poem about Connie

It's too cold in these four walls to concentrate on my book. It's pissing me off because I have ideas I need to get down but I keep getting distracted by the chill. It's harder to concentrate here anyway, I feel like I'm sat here awkwardly in a room that is frozen in the past while I have moved forwards. The simple truth of the matter is I just don't belong here anymore. I could light candles and cast an attractive illusion of comfort over the place but it will be a lie.

Nights like this I just miss Connie.

Never before has there been such a place
so wonderfully simple
with it's welcome embrace
Four walls unlike those of my cage
it's almost, nearly, sort of Home
With all it's faults and creaking ghost
the closest thing to it that I've ever known
As if some inner heart beats within
and when away, only half of me seems to live
I miss you most on nights like this
because Connie is where my heart is.

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