The crack in the face of the clock allows time to slip through my hands

Suddenly, there I am.

Buried alive in all of the wasted time spent hating myself because I wasn’t enough for you

I scream into pillow cases that still smell of cigarettes and that perfume of yours that I always hated.

But there I am.

Swallowed whole by the memories that you and I built on the furthest thing from a firm foundation.

It’s three AM, and the patterns on the ceiling have started answering all of the questions you never did.

They tell me things I want to hear about you and me, so that I almost forget that I’m all alone.

I don’t want to make it stop.

The pressure builds beneath my skin, only reminding me that you’re gone.

I lie here begging the ghost of you to help me.

Anyone.

Help me.