I changed my sheets today -
the ones that smelled like your cologne...
Actually, "tore them from my bed with the ferocity of Midas" may be more appropriate.
Because I couldn't stand to spend one more night pretending as if you were here -
or as if you were ever coming back.

I washed that shirt you wore
You know, my favorite one.
The same one I've slept in every night since you left
just praying to find some morsel of solace
to delay the impending insanity of sleep deprivation.
But just because I could smell you
didn't mean you were there...didn't mean you were real
and I almost started to wonder if you'd been here at all.

I didn't eat today
or the day before that, if I'm being honest.
Food has no taste, no pleasure
without you at the table, fork and knife in hand
ready to devour it - and me.

I went for a walk today
down the street to our favorite spot
and I didn't spend my time wishing you had your arm around me
or wishing you were holding my hand
or wishing that your warmth was pressed against me to help tame the goosebumps.
Or at least I tried not to.
But who am I kidding?

I met someone new today.
He smiled at me and said something forgettable..
then asked me to go to dinner with him next week
and there's nothing I'd like more than to say yes
but still...

After all this time
I know it's your face I would see staring back at me across that table
and your body I would wish for
lying next to me in bed.

There are archers in rooftops 270 meters to my east
They account for the wind
They feel the humidity as the air condensates on the back of their neck
Crawling down their spine
They inhale
Let out their carbon in a slow steady sigh
Their target is at the door to my dorm room

My door creeks open
The archers let the cord to their payment slide down the mountainous ridges on the end of their fingers
One archers whispers "for freedom"
The arrow soars to the window that lets light pour onto my covers

Glass shatters
The thud of a body falls to the floor
I sit up
A thousand grasshoppers replace my bones
The hairs on my arms are attentive

The lights illuminate my illusions
I stare at my own body on the floor
I fall to my knees
Meeting my eyes to the dead stare so familiar in mirrors
Finally
This monster is dead

A ****** arrow stands from his forehead
From his toes to his hair, he falls to ashes
The broken window letting in a breeze that vaccums the ashes from the room
All that's left
An arrow stuck to my floor

The arrow penetrates a photograph
I lift the picture to take a closer look
A hole covers the eyes
What gives it away is the smile
The complection

Finally
This monster is dead

If you come as softly
As the wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.

If you come as lightly
As threading dew
I will take you gladly
Nor ask more of you.

You may sit beside me
Silent as a breath
Only those who stay dead
Shall remember death.

And if you come I will be silent
Nor speak harsh words to you.
I will not ask you why now.
Or how, or what you do.

We shall sit here, softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich between us
Shall drink our tears.

there is nothing in my head that words can utter
but the heart is crying out with a dying hunger for an attentive ear

in this moment
I let my hand do the talking

shut out the questions,
shut out the confusion,
shut out the insecurity,
shut out...
                            
shut off the filter on every action
that seals the lid on my pressure cooker heart

shut out my mind

my heart does not speak at the speed of thought.
I write because my hands say the deep truths that
come out slow and frail,

it is the turtle that wins the race.