You begin to feel lonely
living in an empty house,
that is not four walls
but two eyes and lungs.
Vacant stomach full
of whiskey to **** the demons
dormant in your cells.
You fight her ghost
until 3am.
Driven by
your drunken stupor,
you call her.
Your dial tone
is just as detrimental to her
as hearing your voice.
But you call her anyways
trying to make yourself less sick.
You hold all the things she gave you
to your chest as you put the
phone down
and her voice-mail
plays in the background.
You think of the hope
that was in your eyes
when she looked at you
and saw forever,
replay the image and wishing
it would be there tomorrow.
Too selfish to let go,
so you still haven't returned her veins
that you have embedded into your own.
Those things of hers you guard
are parts of her soul.
But,
she has learned to replace
those parts you stole
with feeling indifference.
You call her again
blind to the scars
you have caused to her heart
because your own hands
are lush and green
from the energy of others.
You've,
depleted her of everything
and left a skeleton,
yet you have the audacity
to ask her
for her bones also.
Her voice-mail plays
over again.
As you try to fall asleep
with her ghost.