Hello everyone:
I've been writing a lot recently and most people tell me not to hold back. I didn't realize that I was, but I've been making a conscious effort not to. I've posted this separately, so I am sorry for doing it again, but most of the time nobody comments on the other and I would really like some criticism.
This was the second strictly 'not holding back' poem that I wrote and it was especially painful. I'm hoping that the desperation of the second half will register. I didn't do it consciously, but it's definitely there. There's a long story about the subject, but I don't think you all want me to bore you with it ... heh.
do you love me still?
do you sit without company
to remember what has been
so accutely dimmed by
hindsight?
do you wander on rainy days;
half-empty soul from the loss of me?
do you still call me sweetheart
in your mind?
can you still hear my voice when
you try hard enough?
and the way I smelled
when you halted my cries?
do you try at all?
are you pushing with everything
your strength contains to
remember?
are you spending your days
pulling and prodding and
prying and gathering
in order to bring me back?
do you write and sing and cry
and dream and love and wonder?
and are you restless with dark nightmares
in which I do not return to you
in tears and whistles,
songs and slow motion?
can you breathe without me?
My heart,
do you still love me at all?

