She does not stir

Every morning I wake up,
Lift my head into the mist,
Of cobwebs and sleep,
There is a dull sullen ache.

I turn my head and see anothers face,
She sleeps beside me soundless,
As I am taken from above,
I do not stir, she does not wake.

Through each passing day,
I wander aimlessly and bleak,
Something within I cannot place,
Has left me incomplete and aching.

I distrust every shadow and smile,
Under every rock there is horror,
Lingering anywhere is discouraged,
I have no sanctuary.

Every night I lay to rest,
I turn my head and see her face,
As I am taken from above,
My tears admit no scream, she does not wake.

There is a dull ache.