As a firm chill solidifies that which once pulsed
And a once full room becomes fuller with clutter,
Life is in one moment everywhere and the next
A self-doubting memory.
How much company I can be to myself
Is stretched by the degree of loneliness left,
The presence of vodka or any drink else,
Or simply my energy.
After seeing three such that were once bricks or stakes
And being so easily passed off and shuffled
No remorse, no revenge, no response at all,
I had no options left
But to lock myself into my room—the extent
Of all I now have and the world I now live in:
A vase of old flowers in water like clouds
From the one I can’t seem to forget.
