It Never Comes

Every bit of you,
Supposedly gone with the wind,
Comes back from time to time
To torment me.

For I knew not then,
What I know now,
And what I know now,
Have been lost.

The sands of time
It creeps
No mercy on me
And my tongue of irony.

Every bit of you
Comes back little by little
Part by part
Never whole
It torments me.

You should have been dead in me
Like I already am in you
I try to smother your fragments
I yearn for a replacement.

It never comes.