Baby, please come home now.
The coffee machine is on the blink, there are dirty dishes in the sink… the ashtrays are all full…even the cat looks pitiful – I left the dishcloth in the wrong place, hoping your OCD would call you back to base. So far it hasn’t worked, I guess things – I – are not enough of a mess. Yet.
But, baby, I am wasting hours sitting in front of the TV, not sleeping, shallow breathing,
wondering where you are
who you’re spending time with
if you’re lying in their arms
if they know the taste of your lips
You shouldn’t leave me in that state.
You shouldn’t leave me with those thoughts, driving me up the wall.
The sun forces its way through the closed curtains, particles of dust float in the air. In here, now, it’s just dark and despair, before it was you and I — heathens, claiming our little bit of heaven.
Baby, you’re not coming home, are you?
But this, I can’t let myself believe,
because otherwise I’ll scream. I’ll cry. I’ll stumble. I’ll fall. Way too deep. The nightmare will be complete.
I am so tired.
I am exhausted.
Denial is really taking it out of me –
still, none of this is real
until you tell me it is.
Image credit: hello-deviantart-com-_by_phoenixleo-d4e7y6i