These handful of days, I cry, often, feeling
As adrift as those first days without you - no better
Now, than then.
I cry, often, feeling bereft and alone. Well, I am.
Only lately it cuts so deep. I have laid your knife hard
Into my wrist,
Not yet deep enough, just not the time.
So, I cry often, I cry, I cry, and as ever, no longer
Does anyone hear.
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