Awake at night
The open window sending waves of ice across my features
Sometimes dreaming, sometimes staring over at the light pollution
I cannot see the stars but I know where they belong.
My fingers trace the outlines on the pillow
Inhaling every scent spilled long before I'd been here.
The sheets are missing pages
The papers pinned to streetlamps
With a couple hundred staples penetrating the rotten wood.
The city lights blast curtains and reflections
Pieces of my hair gold in the moonlight
Whispers sending chills across my spine
Your hands are warm, your hands are warm.
Gases leaking from the pipe behind the wheels
Atop the nearest house an angel screams
Too high a pitch for comprehension
It sounds like heaven to my ears.