Night time

I wake myself up crying,
the real primal kind,
where the tears don’t come before the wailing,
and the writhing in the pit of the stomach.
I curl up in fetal position,
as if folding myself in half will somehow squeeze out the pain,
or maybe keep the hope in.
In the absence of a deity,
I talk out loud to my long deceased ex,
begging for him to stop this feeling,
I say over and over and over again,
‘I don’t want to feel like this anymore.’
‘Please make it go away.’
And the silence that shouts back is deafening.