When your mind has been altered,
Regardless the substance,
Your shaky hands still dial my number.

And if that doesn't say anything about you and I,
Maybe it says something about you an her.

She and her library were an endless love affair.

There you are again,
you old, reincarnated love.
Showing up in new faces
and handing me a token
of your affliction:
your half-empty glass,
a leaf ripped from its limb,
your one-way ticket to a place
I won’t be.

Here we are again,
walking down the street
under wet trees and lit balconies
as if we’re falling in love.  
You try to convince me you’ll
stay this time,
but I see the itch in your skin
to leave as soon as you realize
I recognize you.

And I do.
You’re a fiery first-kiss.
A five-day affair. Maybe this time six.
A reality check.

Light beams and a car horn
shake me awake.
A squeeze around the waist
indicates you’re still lying
beside me in bed.
I preemptively wince in pain.
Any minute now.

You pass through that door
like anyone would,
but I know what your
“See you soon,” means.

Silently, "I need to tell you something."
I approach. Falter, walk away.

I need to break this bond I have with silence,
This unhealthy affair I have with solitude.

I haven't even the energy to pull the words up from my stomach.
I heave,
Retching out nothing but bile and air.

I have so many things to say,
Passing fruitlessly through the space between my ears.

Speaking of space, that seams to be where I exist.
It's either that, or this is Purgatory.

Hell.
Too much conscience to be clinically depressed,
Too far gone to be "normal",
Nothingness.

"This is what it feels like to be a ghost."
To no one, again.

Do you see her in your dreams?
I hope so.

There sits a box
beneath my bed
where I gently place
each one of you.
You are all
beautiful
in your distortion.

I pop each of you
out,
every once in a while;
like ice cubes
from a tray.
You slither and melt
into me,
your frozen waters;
an ocean of time.

I'm taken back
to when
you all meant something.
All my deceit and pain
tied tightly
with a
velvet ribbon;
offered
as a gift.

I disguise you
with costumes
so grand
you appear to be
a commodity,
property of
trickery so dark.

I keep you
hidden
in that box
beneath my bed
where you can't escape
without my key.
You only come out
when my demons
won't sleep;
their elusive charm
so seductive;
a perverse
mutilation
of thought.

Pad-locked
and secret
are the lies
I've told.
The lives
I've lead
and those I've
destroyed.

Underneath the rubble
and debris
breathes a girl
so lost,
squandering herself
aimlessly;
without reason.

So in the box
you will stay,
wrapped up warm
in blankets of
regret,
until the time comes
to clean out
what lies beneath
my bed.