It's the creak of the floorboards,
that keeps me awake.
The small sound of absence;
we feel when the sun sets,
the makeshift wind chimes
of the skeletons neatly arranged in the closet.

I'm just a stained lipped kid
in your oh, so colorful life.
Waiting for your winding clock arms
to finally reach me once again,
and hold me until my time is up.

And then here I am, standing on a constellation,
hoping that one of these stars
once died to make a part of you,
like I passed, to be a partial thought
when you wake in the middle of the night.

Light sweat glistening;
frost on your window.
My breath still caught underneath your bed sheets.