When I've run out of options,

And I'm left with not much,

Where am I to turn to?

When smoking does nothing,

Bleeding can't touch it,
And I'm all out of bottles to crawl into;

What's left to latch onto?

I've tried burning your name away,

Tried drowning your memories,

I've even attempted to cut your face out of my mind.

But you keep coming back.

Crawling through my memories,

Your sharp little nails so deep,

Your sweet little voice so cold

Your memories a constant

Continuous

Obnoxious

Torture.

There are some mornings,

Edging on winter,

Reminding me of that year

Where I can almost taste you again;

I wakeup with your smell in my throat,

The ghost of your skin under my hands,

The phantom weight of your soul on mine.

There are some mornings,

Where I wish I didn't wake up.

Sometimes I don't get out of bed until night,

Watching the light die,

Remembering too many late night trips,

For munchies, for liquor,

For the hell of it.

Sometimes I lay against the wall with that pillow,

Your pillow,

Wishing it was you.

Wishing you were here.

And then I remember

Everything you said.

All the things you did...

And all the ones you wouldn't.

Not even for me.

Not even for you.

Not even for us.