Tired

The oversized white t-shirt sits against the white skin,
Stomach crumples as he sits so that the only parts of his body that touch the material are that crumpled, slightly flabby stomach and those nipples, slightly erect from the cold,
The same cold that breaks through the thin, oversized white t-shirt.
Tired eyes stare back at tired eyes, as tired neck struggles to hold up heavy head.
That thin, oversized white t-shirt that used to be yours, with the painting of the red car on it, you know the t-shirt?
Worn because it looks good, not to remember you,
Perhaps to remind others of you?
When she sees it she is not happy for being reminded of you,
Yet she too knows that really,
It is just a t-shirt,
Isn’t it?
Tired of remembering,
Tired of being reminded,
Tired of the same old clothes,
Tired of the same old tired eyes, which refuse to stop staring back.

Worn to keep pale skin pale,
Keep pale memories there,
Giving us not a moments rest,
We are tired of you.