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Intense, that’s the word. Or maybe that’s more the feel. I’m a junkie in withdrawals, for neither adrenaline nor chemicals. My own decay intrigues insight to what a loss these two hands bestowed upon me. Bulges around my belly, and unkempt hair and skin tell the tale of a month minus you. This pathetic shit-hole that is my life, is dark and reeks of regret and neglect, with so little to hold onto, and even less desire to try to anymore. Restless dawns reminisce a bitter goodbye with less one heart, mine lost in the nights with you. The unique rip, tear and crush of a bullet pounding a human torso removing its life force, is you, in the picture I can’t get rid of, because for some reason the pain fuels the addiction, and I swear I can taste your kiss again. Insanity is pursuing my depression. I didn’t even know I was depressed. Numb? Lost? Has it just not hit yet? Oh god, to make you smile again, or hold you the way that was so comfortable. Its safe to say I miss you.
The sunsets are not as red.
Mornings are not as sweet.
Words come less, and work comes more,
And in my head your laugh repeats.
Hope screams in me, that you feel the same,
But never would I wish on you a goodbye that brought this pain.
I truly wish you well wherever you are, you won’t ever read this, but if love and good intentions float on the breeze, then let a fall wind light you up with mine.
Love always
Andrew