does my voice fade with every passing hour?
does my face become hazier every day?
it’s the same for me on this end but
the essence of you is alive and well
in every word i read, every song i hear
i watch him listen to him, fuck him
my disgust grows as i try to forget your name
that terrible city lifetimes ago
that raped me, starved me, infested, infected me
i barely remember its name
but i remember the cadence and disparity
of those days not so long ago as i’d have them believe
when we starved for everything, anything
a hit, a meal, a fuck, a roof, a bed
those nights we bled and cried and created
were more precious to me than all the gold in Egypt
and now it carries me through the mundane
chaos with a hungover chaser is what I need
can i create without the chaotic cavorting?
through those city streets?