Get used to his shout on the stairs
And the way he swears at the football,
Keeps complicated bits of paper
Repeats words he doesn't quite get
You're looking for love to pick at
And take apart
But flashbacks taunt you
The remote still hangs about in the corner
You're lost without annoyance
In restaurants
In heated discussions
In worry, things planted in words
You accept the reason for being will always exist.
After falling, now lying in bed sick
Fed by plastic
Clinging to clinical
The worst is what's ahead
Light rises and falls and it doesn't seem to matter
The world revolves
He's well out of it, they say
You open your eyes to a fault
thinking the fault is your own
The one single thing
That plagues
A week ago he was still holding you up.
