I can still see you in the dark
     and as I trace your silhoutte on my wall,
     you juggle your last piece of
     cigarette between your fingers--
     disregarding the heat.

I can still feel you in the wind
     with your scent that draws
     all the girls in town to you
     or even when you smell like alcohol
     and fall from your seat.

I can still write down your name
     when I thought my pens
     grew tired of bleeding for you
     and now my blank sheets will be your tomb--
     keep them marking on repeat.