I am resistant to go back into the sun.
Here the pale light makes pale skin tingle.
Here senses burst astray in nostalgia,
Selfish, unwilling to abandon the past.
Dizzy shadows spin,
They chase the mist under cars
They scamper like any second they'll dissipate,
And return to their dreamy owners
Chained and knocked by the changing lights.
Nothing has to be real, not if you don't want it to.
Our strings are pulled frantic and steady by lights beyond the alleys
Beyond the gutters where even the dirt and filth wish for the stars
Embraced by hope, frenetic, drunk, and sick
We are unable. We are unable to change a thing.
Nothing else gets close to feeling this real,
The blankets short and missed,
Your warmth fading on fingertips.
Heads doused in willed assurance
Where bitter things crawl and slip
Hoping their sounds are muffled by their thoughts.
We can hear them though,
Their vanities tearing them apart.
Like silent screams fading in the dark
We ignore them, pretending they aren't real.
I don't know what to call this.
It's been weeks since I could close my eyes
I can't stand the truths they whisper into careless ears
They cross and echo in my mind
Could it be you're never coming back?
To this light.
To this bed.
To the one you promised to never forget?