the purity of the ground has been dyed along
with the lining of the walls that are spray-painted in black.
no sparkles, no glow around the rim;
not a dim hint of a glazed-over artificial lighting.
there's not much to look forward to now.
honestly, there was never anything to look behind for.
for a split second, I may see it from the corner of my eye
but it's gone faster than a tear that falls to the pores of a cheek.
there's a polaroid from days ago lying in the corner of the room.
it's aged worse than faint memories I stole from you.
the edges are burnt, with the scent of alcohol seeping in the air.
the pink colored ashes that drop to the floor seem to have a blood-stained tint
like it's been beneath your fingertips when you bit your nails to the quick.
oh, I taste your scent as I take these ashes in like I tend to do.
may I mention it's ever so beautifully tragic to know you?
I give thanks to you, but not willingly.
it sticks to my brain to know
I stole nothing but your pathetic longing from you.