To be alone

I often write of loneliness,

And often sing of pain.

I spill ink with cruel intentions,

Though I have nothing to gain.

I always miss the subtle cues

And expose too many secrets.

I inhale attention like oxygen,

And exhale lies like cigarettes.

I spend far too many mornings,

Just laying here in bed.

Wishing I hadn't drank so much,

And blocked your number instead.

You might get all my voicemails,

All my drunken texts and tears,

But the one thing that always haunts me,

Is that these bedroom walls have ears.

They've heard you say you love me,

They've heard your snoring slumber,

Yet somehow nine months later,

Your softest whispers echo like thunder.

Basking in your memory,

I lay within these walls.

You think I'd mind the sleeplessness,

But in fact I don't at all.

It brings me back to golden sunsets,

And the warmth of your lips on mine.

When I close my eyes, I can hear you saying,

"I love you"

for the last time.