How do you miss,
a thing that wasn't yours,
was never real,
a figment,
an imaginary voice,
silenced?

I wander these corridors,
aimless,
turning doorknobs,
searching rooms,
listening for hallowed sounds,
in the silence.

The din of the empty ******,
consumes this place.
It is a mausoleum for the un-souled,
the living eaters of humanity.

Gone is the irreverent knife,
that sliced through the miasma,
Gone is its weilder,
the cocksure warrior I walked beside,
A mirage corrected,
A trick of the vapor.

This fun house hallway,
deceives me at every turn,
It's reflections,
a lurid parade of illusions,
and delusions.

I miss you,
my obstinate anti-hero,
invented angel.
Your signature,
was glandular,
a ripe pheromone.
It clings to my nostrils,
my lizard brain,
and deeper things...

Your signature was deliverance.
From the noise,
the pervasive idiocy,
from domestic terrorism,
and the oppresion of monotony,
From myself.

I wander these corridors,
restless,
casing the interior,
Enduring the terrible sideshow,
the clamour,
and the odor,
the seedy film it lays.

I am stalwart,
hopeful,
frenzied.

I am jonesing for that chemical release,
for another dose of ones and zeros,
the hit that makes it real,
the hit that brings it home.