Sometimes warmer, most times calm
Somedays a raging storm
Such are the phases of my being
As colourful and mad as you
Yet in this chaotic ecstacy
You seem to have drifter away
I may not know by words nor by voice
But the heart seems so lost of you
Is this just absence
I have felt that before, that hurts
Is this your anger? it sort of hurts too, so I know
For this time neither of those feel like either
I just feel numb
A wretched broken pot
Of ordinary clay
That loves the wish of holding something again.