I'm alone.
Always alone.
And the loneliness is just amnesia.
Forgetting how people are.
And how.
I want them to be.

Maybe it was something I said.
Or maybe something I did.
I can't quite remember and memories are for the dead,

Was it a thought?
One of those false memories really dreams.
And crying.
Again.

Was it guilt by association with these low life friends from foreign places and afraid of the light.
My destroyer.

Whatever it was.
It made you leave and you've gone.
Not I
Ossified in want to be.

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.