Satire

There is a window. Open in my heart,

But shut against you, in reality. Clamped tight,

Steadfast me, holding to my fiction, that

You are not away. Not gone.

There will be nights, when I am desolate; beyond

Even myself, I will be gone, plumbing the depths

Of despair, and you will come, somehow, a nightmare will

Happen. And you will ask me not to lose hope.

Go away. I have lost what I have.