Incomplete

I feel heavy, thousands of gallons of sea water swish inside of me. It fills up, dark and warm, until I am drowning in thought that consumes me. I am sitting in my room, a sunken bohemia filled with forgotten water bottles, dried flowers, candles. They transform into skeletons with broken bodies and gasp for air as the milagro around my neck slits deeper into my heart. I am a hairline crack in an antique tea cup. I thought I saw you once. Your shadow against the silverscreen, your hair drying every sorrow in me like a sunbeam. I shudder and blink, my eyes grow dim as the moment passes. To exhale would be to bring myself back to reality, evaporate the music in my head. My heart, its disco beats grow slow. I see a church tower in the distance, the bell sings like a lover... and you are gone. I hate being on this side of the city, the streets scream your name and every streetlight glows with a memory of long ago, of yesterday, of now.