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The Year Without Desperation

By Kati Frazier

I can still feel it.

The laughter

(lost to me now)

The simple joy

(now all too foreign)

The uncaring

completely unmarred

tremors of joy

that rose out

of my chest.

Now, my only tremors

are those of tears

of withdrawal

and anxious fear.

I can still see it.

The soft lips

against my hand

(the same hand calloused noe)

The intwined fingers

(now brittle and cracked)

The enamoured lookd

far too honest for

their own good,

but passion hidden

in transparent eyes.

Now the only looks

scowls and glares.

What I give

and what I receive

all too deserved.

I can still hear it.

My own joy deafening

(now tears clog sound)

The sweet breath in my ear

(now they hear only discords)

The warm whispers

carrying so much

in Earth's simplest words.

Reassuring

basic uncertainties.

Now the only whispers

of insults, disdain

at my cold visage

and creaking manner

and mind undiminshed.

I can still remember.

My pain ressurrects

memories of you

and the time without.

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