I'm tired of wasting my poetry on you
I can't remember how to write happy.
You ravage my mind. constantly.
Quietly lurking until you attack me
from the inside out
so I sit in the shower, naked
and try to wash the last of you off my skin
as if I can wash your memory away.
No, your ghost digs in,
burrowing deep in my soul
settling in for a long winter
and what am I to do
but bask in the glow of your memory
clinging to the strands of goodness
and let my self be wasted in our past
because it is so much better than a future alone.