I forgot how it felt.
The aching of a chest as I lean over my patio wall.
Having an affinity with the dust in my throat
That burns along side of my eyes
And you dont know,
But it was worse when you left.

Five.
My dark blue comforter.
My closet door.
The light switch.
The cigarbox on my night stand.
The ***** laundry in my hamper.

I forgot how it felt.
To not breathe when trying to catch as much of the stale air in my bedroom as I could.
Residing there were residual hearts in residual pieces.

Four.
My sheets
My bed frame
The rough carpeting
My cat who disappeared because of the noise.

I forgot how it felt to feel like youre dying.
When anxiety turns into losing your ******* ****.
Because you lost it and you're alone.

Three.
The hum of a ceiling fan that barely works
Scratching of a pen on paper
My breathing and soft whispers that dont matter.

I forgot how it felt.
To feel useless and filled with an intense self loathing
Because I saw your eyes lined with red and watched you walk away - my voice not carrying to call you back.

Two.
My (your) pillow.
My comforter.

I forgot how it felt
To close the door and fall to the floor because I didnt work anymore.
And to know, buried deep under this weeping,
That you wont forgive me.

One.
Salt.

I forgot how it felt.
To feel like I'm dying.