Today,
I swallowed down
my newest shade of lipstick,
in hopes
of bringing some colour
back to my soul again.

i could say you were brown eyes and coffee,
that you were both oceans of happiness and tsunamis of pain
i could say that you had the best taste in music
and the worst taste in people;
but then I would only be telling the novel-like trauma
that comes with loving you

so instead i will paint the image of dark sunsets
and black and white vinyls onto paper;
i will take photographs of unopened cigarette boxes
and spilled coffee tables, i will record the sound of roaring
laughter and terribly loud sobs
and then i will put it all together so that i can
accurately describe you

you with the boyish smile and the terrible
french accents, you with the curly hair and the
bad impersonations, you with the most beautiful mind
and my heart

it's ironic actually, how i use you as my safety net
like my grandma does her rosary;
although i doubt her rosary is killing her
like you are killing me

I can still hear his voice in my head sometimes;
whispering stupid jokes and telling me that
it would be alright,
I can still feel him in my heart actually,
at night mostly because that's when we would talk the most
we would talk about whimsical things and make
jokes out of our lives
although thinking about it now, I think we made those
jokes to keep from crying
//
when they were cleaning out your room this morning,
they found your box of toothpicks
I remember you would always have an orange toothpick
I asked you why one day and you
never responded
I guess I'll never know the answer now
//
the worst part about all of this is that
I still call you, when I'm upset or when I want to hear your voice
but all I hear is static on the other line,
I wonder if you can hear me panic from the other line
because all I ever hear is your voice mail in my head and
it's so inaccurate because whenever I would call you
your voice would still be thick and groggy even if it was
5:22 pm which was coincidentally the first time
I told you I loved you
//
I can still hear his voice in my head sometimes;
whispering stupid jokes and telling me that everything was okay
the ironic part is that everything isn't