Hangover

I still need you. I still care for you. I once called you 'lover'. How I wish it's still so.

I remember all the little gestures that we had between us. Queen of my heart. My vampire princess. I long for your touch. What I would give just for us to lock gazes once again, just for our fingers to brush.

It's been a short two months before we've parted ways. Your nefarious hold on my heart still holds sway. I still hunger for your full lips.

I wonder how you are, if you're still living in a vacuum as I am. My spirit grows gaunt without your nourishing presence. Memories of you still assault me at all hours of the day, so much so that I pray for the liberating blow of pain.

My thoughts are always with you. I sometimes wonder what you're doing. My mind deceives me at times and lies to me that you're still at my side, clutching tightly to me, secure in the cradle of slumber.

I know that I asked for this. All I can do for now is to roll with the savage punches of remorse and sentiment. What will it take to extricate myself from the unrelenting hold of your memory? This night is unending, and yet onward do I continue to stumble.

I can seek comfort in no one but the welcoming grip of alcoholic oblivion and the neurotic, insomniac charge of tobacco. And as I waste away, your specter will hover above me at all times, silently mocking in your haunting countenance. A shard of broken pottery, I lay listlessly on the ground to be trampled on, forever imperfect, missing the rest of me, my purpose forsaken, my future forgotten.

It is most difficult to live with my decision. I cannot outwardly show regret nor remorse for my actions. I must put up an uncompromising front. I did what was necessary (that much is true). A dying star has little choice but to quietly implode in the maddeningly stark silence of the remote reaches of frigid space. I cannot bring myself to ask you to come back. I fear that you just might.

Come back...please.