I could never tell you
exactly what's going on inside my head,
so I'll write instead.
Drown my thoughts in paper & lead.
Keep my hands alive,
and my expression dead.
It takes 64 days to get over you
I stop counting on a cold inebriated night,
the dark forest hanging over my heart
and my footsteps echoing in the shirl silence of a wet hill.
It takes 64 nights to get over you,
64 blue evenings, 64 indigo skies without stars, 64 colorless dreams uneven sleeps, disjointed sleeps, and 64 dreams of forgetting.
I count 64 nights, three encounters with cold metal, two brisk walks in the pelting rain, and one soul standing two steps beside my own body, not yelling your name.