the same echo that resonates in my fourth story bedroom resonates in my soundless soul and in the ashtray that sits on my window sill
it shouts memories back at me from when we sat there
too dependent to care
before we turned cold and the marrow in our bones began to blacken
before we lost each other; to the ache of life itself
i shouldn’t have introduced you to cigarettes,
i shouldn’t have introduced you to depression or illness or satan himself
you claimed you had been there, you're different now
i’ve stained you with what i’ve been trying to run away from
now you're running away from me
too scared of pain and the void in your gut, i see you in everyone
i see you in myself
and i see myself in you
and i know that’s a cliché--
but it frightens me and settles me all at the same time,
something i don’t want to feel,
you were my home, i don’t have one anymore
i live on the streets looking for some sort of temporary house
to reside in
the homeless nights are the worst.  
i used to vent my emotions to you without using a filter,
my thoughts, my routines, me...
i closed the vent now and pour the feelings into bottles labeled ‘don’t drink,’
i store them in dark, dusty corners
of myself, labeled 'don't enter,'
near ribcages and organs and sometimes i hope that one day,
when you somewhat heal,
and your therapist tells you you’ve done well,
you’ll get drunk off of me all over again… but don’t.
don’t poison yourself,
you’re too good of a human for that and maybe i’ve always been empty
but you filled my void, and i wont pretend that anyone else can.
somedays i wish you craved the toxic drink that i am.