If I can't have the one I want,
then perhaps,
I won't have anyone at all.

I'm a ghost these days anyway.
Right here,
does anyone really see me?

This man reeks of tabacoo and *****.
I wonder at his persistance,
so willing to touch a stranger.

Hands try to tug through my hair,
his breath so close to my face.
This absence in me echoes lost.

Recently my hearts been broken.
But for a moment,
the pain stops,
and I can't feel anything but nauseous.