Untitled (December 1, 2010)

Life is not too quickly gone.
Sometime it feels like too drawn on.
But every time I feel that way
the time all seems to slip away.
In time I will forget your room
your hair across your pillow strewn.
Evening light looked golden red
while your hands scraped out my head.
It’s not like I place all the blame
on you or your psychotic game.
The blame should partly be on me
for making sure you were happy.