It came,
before the last
second
melted.
Each time
I hear it
I shudder,
The ghost
on the other
line.
Hysterics,
or a Calm
not sure
which is
worse.
If he is
dead,
I think
things
will only
get worse
from here.
I tremble myself
into a wet
heap
I have no
womb to climb
in, nor a strong
hand to squeeze.
bring me black
long moments
of nothing
It's to late,
and to soon.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ghost-on-the-line/
