There was a time when I thought
that words such as these could,
would save me from the death that blankets me in its darkness,
from the cold waters that limit my oxygen intake,
...

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Hopeless

Hopelessly lost am I.
Devoured,
consumed
engulfed.

I am nowhere to be found.
Hopelessly lost in beauty.
Beauty that is yours alone.

Surrounded,
encircled,
by the air that holds your warmth,
your breath.
The air that makes my fingers crave the feel of your skin,
the touch of your hair.

But no.
No, no,
you are not mine to touch.
Not mine to love.

But I remain yours
to love,
to touch,
to scar,
to burden
because I am nowhere to be found.
Hopelessly lost in beauty.
Beauty that is yours alone.

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Beth Whittaker

Manchester

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Beth Whittaker

Manchester

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