i've been lying in the same spot too long;
the crumpled bed sheets are forming indentions upon my skin

these wrinkles, these extra lines on flesh
(that haven't truly been touched in years)
are the only image that remains from your passing

you would've asked me what that meant,
had your breath lasted long enough;
i have to lay here with pinpricks along my spine

because i can't move

because your whiskey bottle is broken
and i can't seem to recall why

the phone rings,
so much more often than before,
their voices soft, praying,
telling me how life goes on
and that your death should not continue to hold me back

but it isn't holding me back;

i think people use those as excuses to stay sane,
to keep being the labels others have placed upon them

i keep lying in the same spot
where your blood escaped one year ago

i still see the shards in your wrists,
i still see your glazed eyes

but i cannot falter any longer
i can’t not be on my own.

05/26/2007