My lacquered black nails absently trace the outline of my lips.

My thoughts slowly churn until they whir out of control and send me stumbling to your bedside.

My body is frigid and stale laying beside you like a vacant vessel.

When your thoughts become this unwieldy  the wet streaks painting your cheeks are your only solidarity.

"I will always care for you" I say, as I slowly grab grip of reality and exit the realm of memory.

It's just that..

There's no sense in watering grass that's already dead, when you have a forest inside of you begging to live.