a poem i wrote in a whim:

i hope i didn’t leave you scarred

and i know that you hope i didn’t leave

the fire that had burnt us charred

do you have the time to grieve?

i called your phone on a tuesday night

rang almost to full length of creep

your voice was shrill like we just had a fight

do you have the time to sleep?

i came to the park the night before

the bench still held our names in rain

the grass had grown around the war

but somehow knew the shape of pain

i think of you on every hour of clock

should i let you know about it or keep

the dusk is out, should i give a knock

do you have the time to weep