Porcelain

We were so close that I saw him smile every morning

Yet so far away so as unable to hear him writhe

With an overdose of loneliness

That hit him in pangs

For once I thought I could lend him a hand

But my shackles so hard

Kept me chained;

Cutting deep into my skin

While he, woke up every morning

And kept a tea in his porcelain

For me to reach out and sip on.

And day, after day,

After,

Day,

He emptied and refilled the cup

With despair escalating in his veins

And nights choking him with their might

Till one day,

He writhed, no more in pain

But in fury, suppressed forever without an embrasure

And the next morning

He didn't pour a tea in his porcelain

Waiting for me to reach out

Instead, walked up to my dungeon with a smile

And,

A tea in his porcelain.