Why on earth are there creases, wrinkles and criss-crossing on the left side of the bed?
I thought you left with a goodbye stained into unfinished black coffee made before vocal cords woke up to say Good Morning.
And that was more than all the time (years, months?) ago, it's more than my fingers can ever count.

darling i have a lot of spare time and lately i have been using it to compare us to a game of bowling and maybe that seems like a wild comparison to make but quite frankly if i pretend that you are a bowling ball and my heart is the bowling pins and you have just knocked them down in a brilliant strike and celebrated it then it isn't as absurd as it once seemed, is it?

I fell asleep after "Good Morning, Vietnam":

I can feel it all, in your hair.
Under trees.
Flying above the stratosphere.
My arms extended.
The skin burning off my torso-
struggling to breathe,
with a smile on my face.

(Canned laughter)

You're in a living room.
You are me.

I dug into my chest and petted my heart.
Groaning, the blood swam around my hands
and ate it's way up my forearm,
to my elbow,
to my neck,
to my chin,
to my lips.
"I can ******* blood,"
an internal piece of dialogue.

She whispers in your ear,
"I know who you are."
I am you.

I cut my voice on the air, calling out for her.

Why'd you abandon me?
I love you so ******* much.

Why'd you abandon me?
I love you so ******* much.

(Canned laughter)

Why'd you abandon me?
I love you so *******-

You are in my room.
I am you.
We are everything,
and we are nothing.

That's my mirror.
It's shattered.

Hey, there I am on the ground.

There's a brunette, mediocre poet.
It's shattered.

And on my hand are specs of heated sand,
sleeping in my skin-
a glass garden.

How can one find schizophrenic kisses
in a reflection.

(Canned laughter)

I said, "How can one find-"