By the Time You hear This, I will Have moved On

Deep into the splintered void- where the days of our youth were made.
Our unfamiliar waves cast shades of rain,
now depraved- with no more or less from what was saved.
Floundering under frosted skies,
fleshed into salt from tired eyes.
Peered out into the open road and then threw out everything I owned.

It’s just not easy to talk to you- to look at you, and to only think of two
once the world falls away.
What happens when you leave?

The novelty wore off, somehow we made it through the night anyway.
…and numbered days;
43..45..50.
Tears blur through these eyes- perennially on the receiving end.
Slipping past the conscious mind
the remains of a conscience friend.
This hurts you more than me… but I have stared down this mirror before.

Suppose the sheen outlasted you.
What love can do.
But it steals the night too.
The morning leaves more uprooted, coffee grounds and drool,
wiped away with only bloodshot eyes to attend to.
Enough to make a difference when I stroked my hair- brittle and falling to the floor.
How pretty I must look in my old age…

It used to be different, staring out the window somewhere around 6th period Chemistry.
What became of me?
The fantasies created aren’t guaranteed.
The phosphor mild under the fluorescence and arid smell stimulating my need to flee.

Not a dry eye in the house

.

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