One empty nightstand and a closet half-full,
dim the lights and don't bother
to draw back the covers before you
surrender to the time.
The windows are drab and unclean
because you've lost the ambition to see clearly.
The sink is cluttered with the ghosts
of your last meal together and the rotting smell
filling the kitchen
is your favorite reminder that you didn't really
enjoy her cooking anyway.

Don't be scared, Love;
show me your scars.
Give me a piece of your soul,
and maybe a glimpse of your mind.

I could show you beauty,
without a field of flowers.
And an amazing high,
without the foul aftertaste.

Just let me in,
let me feel your pain.
I'll touch your soul,
and make you go insane.