I still hear her voice in my head
the way a mad man
might
stirred up after all
this time
like dust from a
place I failed to sweep
yet find needs
sweeping
the midnight phone calls
the text after text
the memory of what it was
or never was
how can I even be sure
I hear her voice even
when it's not there
or on the CD player
or SoundCloud
what was and perhaps could never be
a voice long gone silent
in the waking world
yet not yet dreams
I wish to hear the sound
even when the images fade
and I need to remind
myself
who it is they are connected to
Eden abandoned
hell not fire so much as absence
the inability to have
what I desire most
my fault. her choice
she being the one to decide
who to talk to
who is worthy of
attention
when all I ache for
is to hear it again
for real
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