My mind stings with anticipation
Of the pain I might feel if I open my heart
I grasp at the low hanging fruit
Because they choose not to disturb me deeply

A human emotion washes up
And I try to ignore it
I calm myself with a drink
And then push into nothingness

I’m distracted by the blinking light on my machine
It says you have boxed something of mine
And it rests coldly outside
A note from you nestled inside

I can’t call, it’s too late
And I’m numb from infractions
My heart worms around for nothingness
It feels like I love you

© 1/17/2001
William Grant Preston

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