In a stairwell littered with rubbish and stinking of piss, I look up at a man who isn’t there. In a parking lot outside a block of low-rise apartments, I’m stood smoking while thinking back to how things used to be. As the ground sways beneath my feet, the scent of your body carries in the breeze and says hello just the same as it did all those years ago. I would watch you as you slept, y’know. Would stand at the foot of the bed wishing so much to get inside your head. To lose myself in you and never return, but instead, I lost myself elsewhere. In the bottle. In the arms of depression. In the corner of a room without walls. A pinch of all three. To think of you makes my palms all sweaty. You who makes me angry and serene in the same breath. You who would be mother and whore in the same sweet embrace. As a train rolls to my left, the trees whisper like they did back when I was a kid. As I slouch on the sofa spilling my drink, they can still be heard even over the drone of the TV. Tired so tired. So forgetful and forlorn (as time ticks away).

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on 

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