My blood’s been burning its way up to my skin and the pulse through my limbs flows faster than ever again. The presence you brought with you lies in the folds of the bed and the breaths that we took have all found there way through the vents. Now they’re all talking to me and staring at me as I sleep and I can see you walking away in a pale sheet of smoke at your feet. And I can see you walking away but I thought it was only a dream. I’m drowning in this dry, empty bottle hoping you come back to sleep.
I slept through a morning of headaches and bruises today and woke to a feeling that brought it all back quietly. The ghost of your love dragged me by the throat to the phone and I stopped by the store on my way back home around noon. Well now I’m wasted again and you’re fading to grey in my head. You can see it painted on my face. Just a portrait of a bitter old man. And I can see you walking away but I thought it was only a dream. I’m cold in a black oil canvas, watching you paint the lines in.