Slither

I only breathe now
out of instinct.

Love comes in like a storm,
drop by drop,
but
suddenly you're drenched
and laughing
at all the craziness
that once made you run
for cover.

Joy dies out like a drought,
slowly
and bit by bit until
all that remains
is the hope for its return,
and
wasted prayers
spit out
to an inattentive
darkness.

Alone,
my skin seems so white,
and I can count
every vein
like crisscrossing interstates,
moving now
only because
they know nothing else.
Illusive sleep,
chasing the ghosts of dreams
like pictures in frames,
reminders
of a time when the heart could feel
something other
than the dull ache
of longing
it cannot name.