You never want want to listen anymore. I couldn't tell  you everything I never knew you wanted to hear. Things about moments I wished I could burn under a magnifying glass. These were not ants. These were regrets. Lions in dens that couldn't remember to breath. laid down sulking over memories of feeling alive, licking their paws waiting for the world to spin fast enough that a gazelle might stumble in silly and dizzy. There are days I still don't see straight. Broken cave roof tops drizzled full of saliva from every time I didn't open my mouth to tell you the debts of heartbeats I owe you.  The days split in half like a curtain before a bad play that no one came to see. Self loathing is a term we avoid in these parts. A town full of mirrors hoping to find the reflection I want to see. You are so beautiful. There was a moment of silence. I spoke. You weren't there. You never will be. Pillows full of feathers that hold every word you spoke in that bed. A memory that has been on repeat in my head. Every time my head hits the pillow I hear your voice. It's almost like the cold side of the pillow. Shivers chime down my spine with eccentric rhythms. Speak into my breathe. I've been dreaming.