You begin to feel lonely living in an empty house, that is not four walls but two eyes and lungs. Vacant stomach full of whiskey to **** the demons dormant in your cells.
You fight her ghost until 3am. Driven by your drunken stupor, you call her.
Your dial tone is just as detrimental to her as hearing your voice. But you call her anyways trying to make yourself less sick.
You hold all the things she gave you to your chest as you put the phone down and her voice-mail plays in the background.
You think of the hope that was in your eyes when she looked at you and saw forever, replay the image and wishing it would be there tomorrow.
Too selfish to let go, so you still haven't returned her veins that you have embedded into your own.
Those things of hers you guard are parts of her soul. But, she has learned to replace those parts you stole with feeling indifference.
You call her again blind to the scars you have caused to her heart because your own hands are lush and green from the energy of others.
You've, depleted her of everything and left a skeleton, yet you have the audacity to ask her for her bones also.
Her voice-mail plays over again. As you try to fall asleep with her ghost.