Neon lights that read "vacant,"
your name is plastered in my head. 
"What do you want from me?"
I'd yell forever if I thought you could hear.
Your scent lingers in the crevices of my couch and at the tips of my sheets,
even as I stay in hotel rooms that have never had the privilege to meet your body. 
"I'm insane,"
I know with my tone of voice, you most likely took it like I was being cocky and maybe I was. 
It's the only thing I am probably absolutely sure of about anything, about myself. 
"And what drove you to the point of this stage?" 
I bet you could hear the anxiety in the voice, begging to know the answer.
"I drove myself crazy over you."