the last poem

you ask me why I don't live life
and I say

Damn, well, I'm trying

But my heart beats slow and steady
and I don't get that rush I used to,
So I ask, is this real?

Tucked away in skin and bones
so fragile and forgetful in the bed of another,

my tears will wake me tomorrow.
drowning in my little weeps
i stare at your frame
glowing under the pale light.



I will forget your face after tonight.