behind bars

I’m spinning around, and I can’t stop. I have this thing inside of my chest, but it’s not a heart. It’s something else; it’s colder or harder, or hollow. I can’t tell. After all the letter writing I decided to go on a diet, I stopped eating carbs, this includes most fruits. Lots of vegetable juice and skinless chicken, maybe fish. .In my head I traveled to your apartment. I have a key. So I lay down on the couch. On the table there was half a joint. And I imagined smoking it.

And I’m lying on this couch and I’m all alone, and I close my eyes. And all I can see is your face passing behind my closed eyes, passing like ghosts who haunt so many, who have haunted me for years. And here, on this thing, it’s quiet. This house is quite. My house is so god damned loud and you never seemed to mind but in this house the thing about the quiet is that it’s so loud. I can’t hear anything besides your voice. The voice I remembered hearing in london or bali, or wherever, and when you were the furthest somewhere that one could travel. I cannot sleep. I can’t when you’re not around. You can’t toss or turn sleeping on a couch and everyone’s left me alone because they know I need it, they understand my need for you, because we’ve spent so much time talking about my love for you.

I’m here waiting for the anger I feel within myself to subside, for an accident, for an act of repentance. But I’m not lucky, I’m not always fortunate, and I’m too proud.

But not too blind to see what really you are to me and that’s what I hold to. That’s what I dwell on, that’s what fills my heart on days when it’s quiet, and I have none to share my smile, and when I think of you always.