Vacancy / Kourtney Hollomon

I am waiting to lose you.

Familiar smile

left decaying,

eyes yellow, hollow.

Skin pulled tight, paper thin,

flesh hangs barely to bone—

to dance atop your feet again

I’d surely break them.


It’s hard to look at you, to see

not the what, but the who

that’s been lost—

former conqueror of midnight,

monsters, and bedtime shadows.

Body now reeks of tequila

and death—

it’s telling you something.

You don’t listen.


When the pain begins to bleed back in

you reach for your bottle,

not for the high—there is no high left for you,

just numbness.


I sit through the blur of home movies,

watch your breath help carry my wish

of another day with you in the park

to three pink candles.


But you stumble by,

hair and clothes tattered,

unable to recognize I am in the room.


I sit—

waiting to lose

the absence of you.

Published by ericorosco

Eric Orosco is 25 years old and tired of waiting for things to happen on their own.

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