I find myself

leaning into nothing

and feeling my stomach

roll through me as I fall,

and you didn't hear because

there were no screams,

there was no time, at all.



I woke up the other night

and heard your voice inside me,

so I turned off the lights and the radios

and the tvs but you were still there.

You were always there.



And I will not cry for yesterday,

for you, not because I don't love you,

but because I can't control you,

nobody can.



(But can you control yourself?)



Sometimes I wonder if I think about it

too much, then I stop wondering, and realize

the pain of open arms and two years ago

still burns me to a crisp [I am smoking like a

fucking chimney], but the pain of you

and the memories I have made

still hurt.



And the way you left still burns,

though I will never admit that to you

because I am sure you feel what I feel,

know what I know, and I'm sure the

religion we forged is still a component of your system

and I'm sure your kiss still feels the way I remember.



The pain of memories never fails.