You’re in my head,
night after night,
where sleep bleeds
into nightmares,
where you are
a remembrance
of things past
and things never done.
You’re in my heart
when I can’t breathe
anything but
fire and smoke,
whisky and wine.
You’re so far away,
and I can’t wrap
my arms around you.
Everything’s been
fiction and dreaming,
and your heartbeat
is only an echo
of what I wrote
years ago
in my loneliest hour.
When I wake up,
the sunlight will
banish you,
as it does,
as it must.
