The very last words to You, to ever be read from myself,
are neither directed solely to You, nor speaking of You only.
For these words, they describe You, as a consummate of spirits--
All that You hide; treasure troves of secrets lie beneath a dirty bed;
The dusty bones of a rattled skeleton, that whispers your name from the closet.
The proverbial scars which cover my being, never will they truly fade away.
You are still there, through all that I face.
Collecting my dust, while You obsess over beckoning me back...
Because You have
nothing else
to do.
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/221917161-288-k939934.jpg)
YOU ARE READING
365 Days of Poetry (Part Three)
PoetryPart three of my '365 Days of Poetry' challenge, 2020~