with detachment, he stole my world.
the very breath from my lungs,
leaving only the hollow ache in my ribs
and mourning holding my bones on fingertips.
our room is silent now. and you told me it
would no longer be ‘our’ room. but only
after you stained it red with hollow intentions
and empty promises. the memories, your
voice is a deafening numb that pulses through
my ears constantly reminding me of the weight
of your absence. the dark shades that hang
from my eyes rock me to sleep as your
voice sings Moon River.  
memory has never failed me until I try
to recall our last kiss, the last truth from
your lips. because I can’t remember how
your smile tasted or the gentle glide of
your hands but their scars are all over
my body and they won’t let me rest.