Mar 24


My mailbox is empty
thirty-two letters,
now no more.
Without you to anchor me,
I am invisible.
I feel like a ghost.
I turn off all the lights
and pull out your letters.
Little envelopes of hope,
from you to me,
that I am still here.
I am not running
I am still breathing.
My heart keeps beating.
Does yours?
Does it beat for me,
like it once did?
Is that why you kept writing,
when everyone else left me for dead?
I throw them
one by one
away from me.
Somewhere your name can't burn through me.
You're very far away,
but you still see right through me.
Your words are in my brain.
Why did I open that letter?
I miss you
You want to hear my voice
see my words,
know for sure
that I am still me.
But I am not.
More painting than human.
Slipping away through a rusty drain.
I locked up my emotions
threw the key away.
Tried so hard
to forget your face.
But you stayed.
You stayed,
when I became insubstantial.

I turn on a light,
sit down at the counter,
and begin to write.