First and only one this month. Enjoy.

A quiet necessity, love. A lingering doubt
when you cannot hold the hand
of the girl you chase, that face
which lives in your dreams, that face
you cannot talk to for fear of ignorance,

No one knows where you live in your head,
that haunted house called Heatherlaw,
a contracted love. You cry in the sitting
room with the rocking chair and empty
bookcase, housing novels of dust and neglect.
Windows frosted over with pain
as devils outside dance in the rain.

A quiet necessity, love. Solitude lives
within you as you struggle to come to
terms with her disinterest. She’s hand in
hand with another who was once like you.
There is a house in his head, known
by another secret name, where he waited in hope
for someone to knock on his door.
Such a shame it was her, wasn’t it?
Interesting piece, though nothing revolutionary. The way you phrased certain things really caught my attentionn ("housing novels of dust and neglect"). The little couplet-like lines ("windows...pain....devils...rain") confused me a little because of the absence of any other rhymes in the piece. I like how you used repetition to bring the initial idea back again in the third stanze. This poem really reflects what pretty much everyone has felt at some time, and again I think what makes this good is your phrasing and literary devices.

Good job.