The casual walker-by below our yellow windowpanes must look up through the city lights and feel the same as we wonder why in our beds above the darkening streets "with some sense of shared human secrecy."1 Mostly crazed by thoughts of paint peeling at the seams as the tiles on my shower wall crack at the base. Retracing every anxious line. Reflecting how they fell apart. I never want to come undone or unravel jealous in the wind. I'll say it again. I'm not afraid to die just scared to live alone with you. Drunk in the morning, I woke to Dragon's breath and summer tugging at my sheets to pull me out of bed. Drunk in the night, I swear I saw a raven grow black as your hair, out of your thoughts, into the sky and through the outer holds. One year ago I watched dance across a wedding floor in a bridesmaids dress that fell to pieces at your feet––could you not see? So many thoughts came unsummoned to me then––unuttered on the car ride home before you left for the new world in shades of blue. I woke yesterday to no one lying by my side, just empty pictures frames and broken dresser drawers––where did you go? I've try to hold my hatred in composure but your dress will not stop slipping and your words are ripping through my simple mind. I'll say it again. I'm not afraid to die just scared to live alone with you. We’re more than young-fucked-in-the-morning-sun by some drunker-than-New-Years-Eve-Holy-seraphim-on-Haight-Street coffee shop poetics on love and drugs and War and Peace. I can’t believe what they say to me. I can’t believe what they did to you.