Your
mug shot
stared back at me,
removing all mystery left
within the night.
I became grateful for the glowing screen
that separated your captured image
from my wide eyes.
My breath lunged back into lungs,
squeezing the walls for safety,
terrified of battling
the thick air
in the room
where I held your photo.

Your lips thin and
braced,
as if you were holding
your hell
in the muscles of your jaw.
They were grey and tight
like the rest of your skin
stretched across your foreign face.
Your eyes,
sunken
as if you were already a skeleton.
Death peaking through in physical life.
I could barely peer into your pupils
for longer than a fraction of a second
without looking away.
Your gaze cold,
seeping with chemicals,
reflecting a glassy turmoil.
The features of your face
were no longer present
the way they used to be when
I was a little girl.
It's as if time
washed the details of you
away.

A rainy sorrow
I used to get caught in.
Until realizing the dryness
of non-existence.

The only deciphering factor
that lead me to believe
that it was really you
Staring back at me
was the way your part
forced your blonde hair
to wave
around your face
and collapse at your cheeks

The way mine does.