Dead men have their grieving wives
and oceans have their graveyards
and all I have left is an empty sky
and time barking at my heels
and I wonder what happened
to the young man who once painted the night
with the stars from his dreams
as he slept upside down from the smile of the moon

I wonder if he’s dead

I wonder if I killed him

because he was better at imagining love
than I was at talking care of it
I wonder if I pushed him from a high cliff
and quickly retreated before his screams
became a flat thud of crushed bones

I wonder if I buried him under dirt and fear
under the obligations of failing to try
I wonder what could have been
if I had gone right instead of left
on one of those long cold nights
when the road was going nowhere

I look in the mirror
and nothing stares back at me
not even a ghost
just an empty world
inside an empty room
trapped inside empty eyes
that have lost their color

and I wonder if
he is still better at imagining love
than I am at taking care of it