crawl into my life and my mind. leave tunnels where you once moved and convince me that the crumbling crevices are what i needed. make yourself a home before you leave. i will provide the space, the rooms, the comfort, the quiet when you need it.
then
you always leave.
you often return, but not as before. not at all in fact,
but you do linger now and then.
like the smell of my first baby blanket, or the smell of my grandfathers rotting body.
the mucus that strings along behind you, once so loyal, now serving me.
my elixir which keeps me hopeful and giddy in a daze.
a vice that has no business being this powerful.
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