He's not here

[boudiceaborn]

He's not here and it comes back
the tightened chest
the tension before the jump.

He's not here
and light fades from the neon sign
electricity shudders to a halt.

My sleep has gone too, fled
to the unwashed dishes, or the
dirtiest corner of the bedroom.

If life is empty when
he's not here
was it ever truly full?

A question for my next insomnia.

I roll over and fiddle myself away
because he's not here,
and it comes back.

It comes
back.