My hand without yours

Even more Unorganized Accounts of My Preoccupation

Would I be the one with tears staining my face in the dark of the night on a matress fraught with with your memory?
And at night there's nothing but tomorrow's drudgery to consider,
a place and time thereafter, where our worlds, my life, is expunged.
And why don't you choke on these thoughts as I speak them?
And why has my luck fallen short of death?
If there's no thought, no suffering, and choice,
how come your eye's show me otherwise?
How long must I drown before there's some relief?

And HOW COULD YOU!?

Just as I have thought of our world without myself,
Just a reaction like any,
Just the thought of this world replacing my love and more
is so insufferable as a friend's death untimely.

DON'T YOU CARE OF MY DROWNING, OF MY GASPS FOR AIR, OF MY DEATH IN MIND?

Why don't you choke on these thoughts so inevitable as my next breath?

BECAUSE THEY'RE NOT THOUGHT OR FELT OR CONTRIVED!?

Well here's to the end of some thing as beautiful as life itself;
I tip my head forward to comply and drown out all these thoughts with pain I feign to hide under another facade of selfrespect.
Let it be over now.