sometimes when i sit in my room i look at everything. and how pretty things can be when you really watch them. all my books, each one bought with the intention of re-living a different story.
is that the way you listen to your music? do you want to forget?
my shelves of memories. that sometimes i think you have, too.
when i lay awake in bed at night thinking... i'm almost certain you can hear me. and i think the thoughts i want you to hear me thinking - where are you, how are you?
how alluring you can be in my head, if not in person.
i can still hear your voice, vaguely. everything is blurry and faint. like a ghost you glimmer, leaving your memories behind. folding up slowly and deciding whether or not to play. i suppose that's what forgetting is like.
walls that drip
and sheets that scream.
curtains to hide
a mind that taunts.
where were you last night?