In this recurrently empty life.
In these nights, that smell like spring and feel like december.
I just can't see it anymore.
I fear I'm not strong enough.
Like I'm falling a part.
It just won't stop hurting.
A piece of toast nailed to a plaque, left to crumble and mold for months.
Spirits in the sink.
Fools in the mirror.
Unpayed bills on the counter.
Sick.
To the stomach.
To the pit.
To the hounds.
Sick to that dead, cold, iron weight in my chest.
That only goes away, for a flicker, a moment.
Tiny devices pulse, dogs bark at phantoms, all in the hope...
for one brilliant peaceful ephemearal eternity
that you're reaching out to me.
For another moment, for another hour, for another day,
depends on how much of me you can endure, before breaking down,
I'm whole again.
Maybe I'm not strong.
Maybe I'm needy.
Maybe...
Maybe I love you with all of me.
Without you, I am a shell.
A husk.
The dead skin has to be burned off.
The chrysallis has to be purged.
For the sake of me.
For the sake of you.
It's just...
do I have to do it alone?
Can I not feel your breath on my pierced, tingling skin?
Can I not see through this shroud of empty to your loving smile?
Can I not feel your fingers wrapped around mine inside these frosted manacles?
Is love not enough?
Is empty not enough?
I lost sight of the dream in the dark.
I lost words of wisdom in the enormous echo.
I lost the will to cry for help to the chattering of teeth.
I lost you to me.
