These days

I stay up late these days. I wake up in the middle of the night. My body jumps. My eyes open. Your name screams through my mind. Somethings different. My mind hasn't let my body know that you're gone. My body is refusing your absence like a bad reaction to seafood. I still feel you. I know you're awake too.
I smoke a lot these days. My sheets smell of nicotine, not of you. I don't have a reason not to smoke another and another. Three cigarettes to smoke my tears away and a pack and a half to help me write these words. But no "smoky kisses" to follow. I'll quit when this is all over.
I talk a lot these days. Endless conversations trying to get to the root of this feeling. Prepared speeches to answer the endless "how are you doing"s. Words pile on words, trying to build a road to lead to the end of this pain.Trying to convince the world and myself that this will end. That I see the light at the end of this tunnel that I drove my self into and broke down in the middle of, in the dark. Talking and talking to fill all the spaces where you were there to listen. The dead air has nowhere to fall, so it falls on me, weighing me down like the consequences of what I did. The silence is deafening, haunting, taunting, just leaving me wanting to talk to you.
I take a lot of naps these days. But you're not here to wake me. I get tired in the evening and wake up sad and angry. I'm waiting for your phone call, "Baby are you coming over". I'm waiting for you to crawl into bed, "Baby, it's time for dinner". I'm waiting for you to sleep beside me. But my body jumps. My eyes open. You're gone. "Baby, it's time to get up". I can't.