A silent whisper in the dark
The night’s so long not far along
Her aching gut says something’s wrong
The lies she tells herself
Nothing, there’s nothing wrong
Her heart exposed, raw and vulnerable
It races to catch the air
As it’s no longer blithe
Seeking to wipe out the incertitude
The muddled mind plays vile games
Disoriented, longing for the long gone
She lays bleak until dawn
Love,
Quaint Postcard 