Can’t count the years
Or the last day, ending finally at moonshine
Sick wanting your soul to touch my semblance
You left after a week of my workings
Medicated with pills, stained in blood.
But kept me afloat
I know you couldn’t see all I’d be
So I lay as a folded puzzle piece
Come home
I’ve been clean and swept from the rug
I’ve been waiting for tomorrow and the words that may never come
I’m counting the years I’ve been lost
Like the ritual of this lonely cycle, never satisfying in empty homes
