In the room
You come and go,
Adrift in desolate disgrace
And barely show your face
Although
I see the markings of a tomb

imprinted in
Your somber guise,
A stony statue of remorse.
I wonder which is worse -
To be alive,
Or live unfeeling in your skin.

Out on my street,
In weeping rain,
In bleeding snow, you come and go
Floating to and fro
In pain,
In final spasms of defeat.

Inside my crypt
I come and go
In air weighed down by sweetened dreams.
But through the haze, it seems,
You glow,
Like hollow silky golden script

inscribed upon
An empty shell,
Discarded once and never found.
I wonder how
I’ll ever tell -
Are you still there, or are you gone?

From spring to snow
And dusk to dawn,
Meander through my weary mind
I’m always left behind,
Withdrawn,
To watch you come and watch you go.