gone

the aftertaste is unmistakable and almost numbing.

i am left floating on the cool sheets of my bed

with the moon as my only source of light. 

how long should it really take,

if it took the sun this long to realize its greatness? 

i walk through the hallway 

speaking to the shadows that never left.
she came knocking at my door, dressed as temptation;
holding her breath and releasing it slowly.

[i carry that rosary she left behind,

only as a reminder that you can't take anything with you.]

it's been weeks now and my insides feel the same;

unwavered and a bit detached. 

how much do the details really mean to you? 

anything left inside begins to rot and multiply; 

all  must come out in some form. 

in any given time, 

we're all trying to do our best with what we have in front of us.

the end result doesn't always show much for it.