< 3 years

its been < three years since i'm knocking on your door.

where am i, but further away?

my self is gone and the vessel that should be holding me is more damaged than ever.

give me a light, spark me my cigarrette. i smoke my soul.

my eyes have forgotten how to cry.
how to blink.
how to erase your image.
the ocular nerve, tired and strained,
is separate and severed from my brain.
yet, it is somehow sufficiently attached... enough to send me your image:
forcefully, and from far away.
a distance.
a memory.
a separate part from me. detached.
you don't realize this detatchment.
my detachment from myself,
as i try to leech onto you.