longing

It’s late, the midnight hour is buzzing and I can’t stop thinking about you. Perhaps it was the fluorescent lights in the hospital room, or the gouging of tears streaming from my eyes and down my cheeks that bring up your memory like a slightly tilted coffin. I dream you are dead sometimes, at least I did at first now my anger has penetrated my worry. I do not know if you are alive, or dead - occasionally neither matter. I convince myself you are a coward, a piece of shit. I’ve been lied to a million times, in a hundred different ways but I thought at least you would be different. A flicker of a candle being lit - come on baby light my fire. You did, for awhile you were all the fire I needed.