I’ve overdosed on sound waves laced with your favorite band, but I’m no wiser than yesterday.

Last week is writing sleeplessness into my nights. So much time, I started analyzing fluorescent ice drip down the crossbucked steel of phone towers. Electric memory planted in the air and I recall how I stood at the edge of the continent listening to you justify an end through a piece of plastic.  

You. The child. You stood before me days later.

Glowing under 60 watt light- the details of your face pinpricked by my imagination. Every kiss you gave, made on time that didn’t exist. And even though I told you it wasn’t ours, you didn’t stop.

Now when you look to me, your eyes try to be sorrier than mine. I don’t buy it.