His Empty Stare

the flowers he had brought me sat rotting next to my empty vases
deprived of sunlight, they wilt, in moonless blackness as the piano
played something beautiful from before we were born, the doors
lock onto the floor, pinning keys back onto hooks of hotel rooms

I remember him, smothered in violet glitter, staring at the celling
as he whispered lifeless lyrics through cigarette stained teeth,
in another room I sit, crossed legged and alone, as my headless
daysleeper sat singing to a crowd that had never been there

his flesh used to wear me as a second skin, when he was miserable
I tore myself apart so he could empty himself into my darkness
If one day, I'd return to the place we use to love eachother, I imagine
I would see him staring at nothing and everything as he learnt to die.