Conen.

I've been trying to enjoy my life, really. I have.
But thoughts of you entertain me; keep holding me back.
And my nightly inner battles are really getting to me.
If I weren't by the ocean, I'd make myself bleed.

Surely to God this pain won't linger forever?
What a line to walk: refusing to forget but scared to remember.
I thought when you said you loved me, that meant you would fight.
Instead it was you who walked me out into that night.

And I couldn't let go, or my arms would just break.
So they tore me from you, with my puffy red face.
Why didn't you fight? Was I not enough?
Or were you distracted by her prospect of love?

Where is my closure? Why can't I let go?
You're the virus of my brain; I still see you in the snow.
My face is stained with saltwater as you dance the night away.
My lungs suck back more smoke as you forget my taste.

Your blankets are black and white;
How fitting that is.
Do they miss the love we made?
The union of our skin?

I still have your comic book I'm neglecting to read.
If I return it will you ever think of me?