Where do I leave these words she gave me?
Where do I put the intimate things?

Where do I let go of the letdown we became.
How do I forget the beautiful could have been.

Here in this regret.
Here in this middle of nowhere.
Here where the rocks murmur a name I no longer hear.

Here despondent.
Here derived.

Contrition.
Torpor.

I've spent a lot of time.
Just wasting it.
And the frustration builds up like my soon to come midlife crisis.
Could I have been something better than this.

Fumbled speech.
This.
Awkward glance.
This.
Apprehensive twitch.
This.
Somnolent nightmare.

I sleep through the days.
Disconnected from everything.

A loner on the run.
From nothing.
In particular.

Maybe she reads these requiems.
Maybe she still cares.
As I whittle away tomorrow with ten more cigarette
Good byes.