'It Read...'

This weight is the same weight that kills later, I believe
The weight of holding, with unclasped hands
The weight of knowing and pretending that you don't
The weight of looking in from the outside through a stained window; helplessly a voyeur
To a world that goes on without you, a world devoid of your echoes
Such a trite path; that once you closed your eyes to believe in me
Our embrace had not betrayed how empty my heart was
How heavy it could be

( _")