all is left are
pieces of us
like burnt matches
in piles by my front door.

your music loiters -
staining these walls with
unfinished intentions

what once moved my soul with sighs
now spiols my nights -
feels like bullets in my side

I, clutter your life
gaunt and disassembled.

curled in cowardice
on the couch in the front room.

watching
for impossiblity.