My friend of misery, why haunt me so?
In the soulless night’s mirror,
Of the black and white photo.

Hanging there.

Trembling away goes the hand in reach,
Till no longer can it hold it’s composure,
Waiting for you to touch back.

But nothing.

Nothing comes for the one who waits,
Patiently counting stains of misfortune.
Discoloration and defeat.

And yet, waits.

Why lay dormant and tranquil,
When it’s there for the taking.
Mocking silently, submissively.

Always out 3 inches of reach.