I don't recognize you.
In the driveway.
Hidden behind shopping carts.
Underneath the orange glow of the street lamp.
The smoke coming from your cigarette is clear.
It's the silence that's suffocating me.

I watch a man stumble to a window seat on a moving bus.
His eyes are red and his mouth is watering.
He's got a large plastic bag in one hand and holds an apple and some bread in the other.
I can hear his moans and groans over my headphones.
"What am I doing here?" the song asks me.
I run my fingers through my hair
and tap my foot nervously at the question.
The man stands up,
then proceeds to get on his knees, as if he's looking for something he's lost under his chair.
"Maybe everyone's lost too, looking for a way out"
My body is trembling now at the words she sings to me.
I wish you were here with me.
Now that I'm alone in bed.
With only the dark to keep me company.
Sometimes I wonder if you could be?
If it's too much to ask?
Too much to speak?
I know you're busy.
Please forgive me.
Depression slithered into me unexpectedly this evening.
And wrapped itself around me.
"What do I know? I'm a child"
The song fades. But I'm still listening to everything it's said to me.

My body aches.
The spaces between my bones feel like they're filled with glue.
My chest is tight.
When I breathe in, it reminds me that I need to sleep more and dream less.
I consider the kindness of the ground below me as I stand, sipping at chai tea and staring catatonically at the only light in the room.  
I consider the kindness of the walls as my eyes move to your things on the table.
I folded your shirt,
but before doing so,
held it to my face.
It smelt of your skin.
I don't want to forget you.
Promise you won't forget me?
The light spotlights these things,
so I take a picture.
This is what I need to do.
The picture is warm
and reminds me of sunrise.
I close my eyes
and feel orange and yellow.
The scratch of your unshaved face on my cheek.
On your way out the door,
you tell me that you might die today, and that you love me.
My stomach churns.
I hope you know that if these are the last words you say to me,
I won't ever be okay.
I try and slip into sleep.
But "four more days" creeps into me,
wraps around my heart and squeezes it tightly until my eyes fill with tears.
I'm sobbing now.
Clasping my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.
I can feel each day like a rope around me.
Tomorrow, around my neck.
Thursday has my arms and legs. Immobilizing me.
Friday, my lungs.
I'm weak.
Tossing and turning.
When will I see you again?
How many more seconds until then?
Twenty seven days between.
Twenty seven days left lonely.
I'm hoping twenty seven days isn't enough time for you to change your mind.
God knows twenty seven lifetimes wouldn't change mine.

The morning will have to pry you from me.
I'm not ready for this.
Let me feel you breathe,
for just one more minute.
Before you go away,
tie a string around my ring finger
so that everyone can see:
That I'll be the one holding onto your heart,
making sure it still beats.

Plastic cups.
Everything went fuzzy
and all around me was green.
Each new pair of heels that walked past made me want to rip my hair out.
Then I'd be even shorter than them.
Then they could continue to look
and laugh.
Teeth glowed under the black light.
I came in and out of the room.
Each time,
I tried to find him.
But when I did, he was not who I was looking for.
How did I end up on the street?
This time, no bare feet.
This time with my hair down
and a pair of glasses I stole.
I took them so I could play the part in a movie.
But I was never on screen.
No one saw me.
I sat idly in the background.
Each scene, they'd
cut and cut and cut again.
Until there were so many lashes on me,
I couldn't even bleed.

I started a little fire
on the fire escape.
Felt it burn my tongue.
There was a creaking above me.
And white smoke below.
The creaking made me feel
guilty
lucky
and lonely.
All at once.
As it grew louder
it made me want to rip my hair out.
Maybe my heart too.
The fire has left me.
It bounced out into the street.
I saw four wheels run it over.
It made me think of when I smashed my fingers in my doorway.
Of when I used a plastic bag as an oven mitt.
I felt all of that
But this-
This was it.
That feeling you get-
When you wish he wake and hold you like he promised.

The dark is not dark enough
to silence these shadows that speak to us when we sleep.
They crawl into our bodies through the corners of our mouths.
They tell us we won't make it through winter.
Through the fog that's rolling in.
That we will splinter and crack
That we will turn into empty soap boxes.
I promised these walls I would see them again.
Two eyes are sometimes all I can give.
This rain is guilt-free.
But I will repeat my apologies like broken clockwork until you leave me.
Will my lips still taste like coffee
when you come again someday?
Will my fingers still smell like cigarets
when you're a thousand miles away?