Smoke

I wake to the sound

of my morning mumblings;

in an echo, a past life

stir, shift, reach

for love,

finding instead

a screaming alarm.

Oh God! Turn it off!

Grasping…

I open my eyes to

See how you have

notches,

carved,

on the side of my bed.

A reminder

for each time,

We played

Our secret game.

I close my eyes to,

remember,

the stinging burn

Of Flesh.

Suddenly…

the pillows smell

of your scent;

raw

and the last of your smokes.

As I reach for

an empty pack,

You’re gone too.

Leaving me again,

Alone.

While always

standing silently…

Breathing,