you would stare at me
and never look away
like i do at him now
and your hands shake
eyes glazed over
similar to an exorcism
and your soft hands
and your black shadow
and your smell
and your mysterious face
and i'm not yours
anymore
and you're not yourself
anymore
you're not my Charles Bukowski
anymore
you're like a figment of my imagination
that's become lost in reality
I might as well forget