I sit in the dark;
waiting for you,
wine swirls in it’s glass bowl;
it’s aroma fills my nose.
Your presence;
a heavy mist surrounding me,
choking me like the smoke from a stale cigarette.
Your voice;
I know is not real,
it rakes on my raw, tense nerves.
How do the walls talk?
Your touch;
cold and dead,
like the air that fills my room,
I feel you in the tile under my feet.
Your eyes;
bloodshot with alcohol,
never saw my hurt and pain,
as they cut my heart with a thousand razor blades.
I know you are not,
but I’d swear you’re in the room with me;
tauntinng and tormentimg me.
Circling me like a rabid dog.
I could turn on the lights,
I know you’re not here;
but the dark,
it reminds me why you’re gone.


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