Substution

Her arms are a substitute for those that no longer wrap around her beauty. Her bed is a substitute for the surfaces that they fell asleep in each others embraces. Her wanting is a substitute for those cries for her in the middle of drunken nights. Her glances though, they cannot be simple substitutes. The screaming coming from deep within the tiniest piece of her heart can't stand as a mere replacement. She'll try her hardest to understand every mixed signal thrown her way. But it's so hard when every signal contradicts the next and each, in their contradicting ways, screw an already mad mind. I ponder the harm in letting it play out as is. Maybe in all this confusion I can finally see the light. Maybe after running through all the fog, in the dark, with a blindfold on, I 'll find my peace with the situation.