The time had moved like wet sand. I have felt it slow and rough through my hands. Why does it dry and quicken the moment I hear her voice?
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The days were dark and sickly. I felt the dark consume me. Why do they flash so quickly the moment I hear her voice?
I never meant to ever be the kind of man who learns to need. Just happy to know misery. The nothingness will never leave…but she did. And all the voice could tell me,”She doesn’t live here anymore.”
The way my hands are shaking now I know what’s coming on. Like a memory I’ve never had because I never did lean on another shoulder. Such a shoulder. And now I’ll never get to hold her. I hate it when a voice so sure says,”She doesn’t live here anymore.”
I’ve never been much good at tears. I’ve learned to keep dry eyes for years. But now the dark is ugly and the sand of time is heavy with the tears I’ve been denying and I’ve got so fucking many. And am I going crazy? The darkness which once saved me seems to laugh at my new misery. I have nothing to adore. She doesn’t live here anymore.
I’m too old to sit in corners and cut the misery with razors and ask the night for favors and punch the walls in seizures. I’m too old to set great fires and sit in front of them for hours and feed the flames with lovely flowers Which they hungrily devour. I’m too old to feel this broken by a recording of that spoken curse to damn my ears. She’s gone, she doesn’t live here! She’s gone like that and now my fears come back to claim the lot of years where I’ve been strong. I’m broke in two and she is gone. My head will fall to the floor and she won’t live here anymore.