Elevator

That night I stroked her face one last time.
Again it sent cold shivers down my battered spine.
I wanted my lips to show her how much I truly loved her.
The inability to do so ripped and tore my heart asunder.

We were separated for the longest month in my life.
A month marking off days on my arms with a knife.
I missed her so much that today I'm very silent.
I wished that I hadn't gotten so wicked and violent.

Her lips are the poison and the cure.
Yet it's feeling only feels very pure.
It pains me to feel rejection.
But I deserve it upon reflection.

I fight and struggle against the coming storm.
Simply being close to her alone makes me feel warm.
Despite the warmth there's a disconnection.
Slowing the molecules of the loving convection.

I know she loves me but at times it's so hard to read.
Being damaged goods it's not easy to know what we need.
I am sorely troubled with wonders of what hides in store.
This is the elevator of my soul; there's room for one more.

There's room for one more...