After

After you, I didn't exist.

(I was on the highest balcony, drowning in cold water the bathtub, the bottle out of the closet and my skin was fighting to keep your touch.)

After you, there wasn’t.

(I was with the sheets stained in tears, the ink wasted in a toxic love, the cigarette burning my skin while flowers burnt my throat and the moon had taken the night off.)

What followed you didn’t happen.

(He told me that he loved me and I laughed at his face while spitting blood on the sidewalk, I lay down on a crossroad and wrote your name in the streets, ran a race with a drunk with burned knees and the clock didn’t matter)

The next step was raw despair.

(Midnight calls, my voice breaking, shouting your existence three roofs from yours, punching with white knuckles while vomiting on the stairs and asking for you.)

Then it was torture.

T.A.