breathes still,
he told me so.
my dreams haunt me, he says,
yet I do not sleep.
I see her eyes but they
are blank, a vortex of destruction
screaming, relentless with me,
pulling me to her.
He lives still,
he told me so.
I know I am alive, if I cut, I will bleed
but there is no life in my veins.
I sense her smell
it is intoxicating though putrid,
a scent telling of a place I have not been
demanding that I follow.
He dies still,
he told me so.
This torment hurts more with each
second, but still I go on.
I hear her urging me,
I do not know what she wants,
her words are singsong syllables
long lost sounds
they must mean come to me.
He left last night,
he left no note.
Just an epitaph carved by his grief,
in the chair where he waited.
He did not say goodbye,
for there was no need.
he left, when
she left him,
leaving too many questions.
