The Requiem of Suzanne

I sat in the shower this morning, with my head against the wall as I breathed in the steam, and all I could feel was nothing. And all I wanted to feel was everything.
Sometimes when I walk too fast I catch glimpses of you
In the back of my mind, staying hidden like you are prisoner to my brain, doomed to spend eternity inside of a grieving mind.

I cleaned your house last week, and I could feel you inside of the air; the stillness and the quiet.
As if you weren’t inside of that brown cardboard box,
Your essence shoved into such a small vessel.
I re read our text messages, and I cry for all of the times I was busy and couldn’t take trips with you, and I scream for all of the days I couldn’t come spend the weekend with you.

I, am a living being, being haunted by the love that lived inside of your bones.
I think of you all of the time, if you are somewhere warm, with him and your lost child, or if you are right beside me,
Watching me fight to stay above the surface even when the crashing waves of emptiness are aching to pull me under once more.

I laid in bed this morning, staring at the ceiling,
Willing my eyelids to finally close, In hopes that I will no longer see your face in my dreams, or remember how cold your skin was that day in the hospital room.
But it never ends, and you are there trapped inside of the pillars of my mind once again.

I beg of you, release me.