My Bed Past Midnight; You Are Asleep.

(Today, was my first day of school after all this silly, stupid shit happened (Logging Off Twitter; Trigonometry; Him, Looking At Her;  Because I'm Smarter;  Another Broken-Hearted Blog Post; Another Broken-Hearted Blog Post? (note the order; it's rather interesting!)) It was a good day, I smiled and laughed and thought and thought and thought and thought and...well, I need something to post since it's been way to long, and looking through my poetry archives, I find the poem I was most proud from not too long ago. Since the aforementioned shit I've written much, much better pieces, but a bit of nostalgia doesn't hurt, when things were much happier and sweeter and it was fun being in love. Oh well, that's life...you get a hole punched through your chest, and you grab the filler, knowing that it will all happen again... But it's the moments like what has been captured below, that will always make me believe, no matter how retarded and idealistic... ag! just read the damn poem.) 

MY BED PAST MIDNIGHT;

YOU ARE ASLEEP.

The presence of you,
next to me on my bed,
is gentle and existing;
ethereal as you are.

And,
soft as you are,
it is nothing deep,
nothing carnal.

And,
cold as we are,
in needing warmth:
we cuddle,

with
hair quietly tangling
in the background
of our bodies;

with
blood warmly murmuring
in the background
of our hearts;

with
our tired eyes talking,
when we’re silent;
saying things
they weren't supposed to say.

I know
that we’re online
in the pixels, of my screen,
and type to tell you
that I wish you were here;

that my bed is empty, despite me,
it always was;
that you'll only see this message
when you wake up…


But


The presence of you,
next to me on my bed,
is gentle and existing;
ethereal as it is.

T.W.T Mulalu

...

Coming soon.