Your haunting faceYou face is nothing like what I normally see.
Your face is new.
I'm lying alone, hurt, bruised, the ache in my gut growing.
And your face is perfect.
I wish I could touch your face, but I dont want to scar it.
I dont want to hurt it.
I clutch my fists around my forearms and groan as I think of how cold I am.
How alone I am.
How sick I feel as I sit alone.
And as the bile rises into my throat and I fail to hold it in, all I see is your face.
Your holy face.
Your perfect face. God I hate it.