i write about you and i see nothing
fade to oceans in a backwards view of you
twisting on sidewalks
running in a rhythm unbeknownst to you
blacking to a void where
i used to live without you
and we’re crying in rivers
but you’re underwater
it begins to numb like the melancholy hues
of the shadows of your bathroom
when the cold of the tile
touches your toes and i pulsate
for things to be real
so i write about you but i see nothing
like echoes in shells of the ocean
calling back to view
but a darkness trapped
in a void of nothing real
just repetitive moments stolen
in the back of your memories
like the walk from the room
where i left
and the blank
of your bookshelf
shells on a beach