Midnight

The air I breathe feels cold as the dead of night despite
the space heater conveniently placed at the foot of my
bed.

No amount of comforters and comforting takes away
the faulty impulses ironically crying but causing their own
doom.

It's nights like these when I can't remember the way
your voice clinked like fine china used on a
Monday morning breakfast in the middle of summer.
It hits me like a freight train that I can no longer feel your hands; my
biggest fear is
forgetting.

The place around me feels dead as the grass outside
my window and no matter how much I water it it won't
grow.

No amount of music and musicians can keep my symphony
churning with the melodramatic swaying chorus of the
universe.

It's nights like these when I can't imagine life without you
then I remember I've been doing it for almost seven
months now it started in August.
Over and over again the ocean crashes into me; I should be
over this by
now.

The phones cease to work at midnight because the people without
a care and with their heart whole are already asleep or partying or
something.

No amount of memories heals my bones from the irreparable damage
they are enduring; Nothing feels right. Nothing feels
right.

It's nights like these when I wish
more than anything
more
than
anything
more than fucking
anything at
fucking
all
that you'll come home.
that this will end.
that I could talk.
that my rib cage wouldn't burst with each moment without you.
that I could just hear your voice.
that. Just once.
that I'd know I wasn't alone.
that my room wouldn't be so cold.


At midnight it's the coldest and the phone doesn't ring and there's nobody here but the stale wasteland that is my memory.