i am getting better
at saying goodbye
although small things
the way the black
fence curves into
itself
still make me cry
the taste of your
lips on
my cheek
breath
weed heavy
haunts me
pressing
fresh unknown
foot prints
on the carpet
leading somewhere
leaving scorched
finger callings
scraped
charcoal heavy
across the glass
the desire to
escape this world
but only
once it
knows me
