Statue of You.

 I find my heart abandoned. The comforts in which Ive relied on for consolation have now deserted my being. The emptiness that occupies my soul is vast and palpable and seems to take life of its own. I often wonder if its truly an emptiness that encumbers me and not just numbed and deadened rotten fragments and remains of what i used to know as feelings.
 My body is that of an empty vase, so flawlessly still and solid, yet so unimaginably fragile. So seemingly whole and yet while unfulfilled, serves little purpose other than adding to the decor of someone else's space. I'm someone else's thing. 
 There is an invisible and impenetrable veil that separates the world of things and myself. I catch glimpses of shadows of ghosts as they dance upon this veil and torture my sanity. I see and feel only of what once was, and carry immense disdain for what is. I do not want to be here. Living this life. Creating these moments. Moments with out you.
 If I could rewind my life, Id freeze frame us lying on your bed, smiling, laughing, and  holding each other. Having no idea then how you'd destroy me. I would curl up on the flore of this memory, right next to your bed and live there till died, in that space in time.
 You are every fiber in my being. You are the blood in my veins and the toxic pain in my syringe. The time we shared filled that only of my spoon. Blacken my spoon with fiery attempts at recreating our love. leaving it char coled and evaporated as is my hope for any other way. that spoon was my world and its contents courses through my veins, rotting my muscles, tightening my tendons, hardening my valves and doing irreparable damage to everything in its path. Slowly.. steadily.. stiffening me into a living statue of pain. continuously exploding and shattering into million jagged shard fragments. And in this weak and repetitive destruction my pieces reveal a hole. A hole so enormous that not all of the heroin and lovers in the world could fill. And then I'm alone, in too many pieces to count, behind this flowing glass curtain, watching you not bother to grab a broom.