The deafening silence on the passenger side?
Is it death from the cold
Without a shoulder--
Is it my body becoming numb
And my feet blistering and crumbling?
Are my ribs no longer to ache,
To shake and wheeze
My hands will search for you in that goodbye,
But they will only find empty space
And me inside of it, clutching our memories.
So they’ll hold my face
While inked rain falls
And stains them
Instead of you.