Numb

Your memory is leaving,

I cannot see your face.

Is this part of grieving,

or is it an escape?

Sometimes I can hear you

calling out my name,

telling me to "Hurry!

We're going to be late!"

or "did you clean the basement?

and mop up all the floors?"

These memories, they stab me,

like sharp and flying swords.

Or maybe, do they hit me, 

like strong and flying fists,

or fill up all my body,

like noxious, poison mist,

clogging out my senses,

until I hit the floor.

My thoughts go still, my eyes roll back,

and I can see no more.

So, I think you'd be happy

if I just blocked you out,

and partied all the nights away

instead of staking out

and waiting for your memory 

to pass outside my door.

So let me be and set me free,

You're not here anymore.