Don't

Don't -
don't console me
that way you try
with sad knowing eyes
and a questioning, quick shift of your lips.

Don't -
don't console me
and hold me close
so I can hardly breathe:
suffocating and choking my tears on your chest.

Don't -
don't console me
with a stroke and tap
and grip and grasp, with fingers that grate
like sandpaper they shred my sensitive spirit.

Don't -
don't console me
and think those atonal words
you offer can change anything
(if I hear the dry, dreary drone at all through my torment).

Don't -
don't console me.
You try: you touch and speak
too much to nothingness, to a shell,
echoing your efforts out to sea - words wandering amongst the waves.