Worse than a drunk text, I’m not intoxicated.  I don’t have poison running through my veins, giving me sweet release to say all the things that cower in the dark corners of my mind.
Under the influence of your memory, my heart is cold and blood spills over old pictures and messages.
Our shadows dance in the places, all over the states, where we made memories, and I see them.
Hearing our raised tones and giggling mouths in the wind’s voice, haunted by our ghosts of 6 months past.
When I miss you, I am drunk on something stronger than alcohol.
Guzzling bottled up feelings and missed doses of antidepressants, listening to the silence your voice used to fill.