Crowstavern

The past few days have been rough and so to cope, I wrote. I kept writing until I got through it all. This is a part of one of the poems from that process. It’s titled in full:

station eleven.

Hell is missing those you love most

But you can’t do anything about it

It’s gone

Those people you love

They’re gone

You’re alone 

And you can’t get out

Hell is missing those people 

And constantly wishing to hear the words they’d always say in bad times 

They’re not there though

They’re just gone

They’ve been gone

The words, the memories, the love

It’s all gone