A person
Who has no voice but an echo?
Where there isn't even the
warmth they've left behind
but the plainly folded sheets of their bed.
Leading you to ask yourself
Was there even someone here?
A distant memory that was so short,
Drunken delusions could easily be more bearable.
A taste that's no longer bitter
Without even a film on tongue.
The presence of her has gone
Like a sickness fraying out
of a breath, right as it's
completely
gone.
It's as if,
I've immunity.
To her.
And a new sense.
Of appreciation.
For someone.
Who I know will work with me.
Drift.
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