His eyes became wells
overflowing
buckets of regret
drawn from the emptiness
that crawls up his walls.

The colors run
passionate
cotton candy
water colors.

I hold out loud
conversations
with the ghost of you
in my bed.

I must be quiet
quiet, still
but doing so
will only show
shadows on the fourth wall.

What a cool waking to life again
edging towards the green
euphoria seeps in the mind
as the cold of Winter leaves.

From the dead
and from the gray
roots of love
find a way.

I still turn to talk to you
I still expect your smile
I still hold on to your soul
I still see the rest of my life
in you.

And so...

I'm still fighting.

He was a
robot
who dreamt
it was a real boy.

Just before bed
I turn out all the lights
and for a few moments
I am bathed in darkness.

In the moment before
I turn the bedside light on
I imagine you'll be there
In bed
smiling,
in love,
when the light comes on.

But you never are.

And this nightmare-come-true,
tallies on another day.