I sat at the end of
The bed in our
Bedroom.

Her dress hung from
The cheap clothing rack
I’d picked up from the
Dollar store on Broadway.

The dress, it was formless,
But still held the shape of
Her body which was very much
Alive even though she was
Somewhere else.
I yanked the dress from the hanger,
Throwing myself into
The floral patterns sewn into
The black cotton.

It still smelt like her, too,
And though my nose had
Been crushed and smashed,
Carelessly played with like
My stupid trusting heart,
I took in that smell, letting
The intimate last touches of her
Graze my ruined nose.

I ran the dress up and down
My face, pulling a strand of
Her hair from the shoulders
Where that hair once swept,
Swung and moved like
The fingers of Mozart
While he rested and relaxed them
In salt water.

I start to cry,
Pathetically holding the dress
Weeping, heaving, grieving
And sulking with a cool self pity
That still didn’t bring her back.

I looked at myself in the mirror,
The red tear stained face
Staring back at me, and I said,
If only she could see me now.

I finally let out a groan, an
Inhuman kind of snort
Like a pig stomping on a
Shank of burning hay.

Snot dripped from my
Nose landing on the
Floor, the dress, the knees
Of my jeans.

I was too crazed to notice
That I was using the dress
To wipe the tears from my face,
Running it across the acne scars
Shaped like Mars’ ancient canals

It was then that I perked up,
Seeing a cockroach strolling
Across the floor, moving towards
The hole in the wall behind
The radiator.

I jumped onto the edge of
The bed where my legs sank into the mattress grooves
From the humps caused my legs

I threw her dress
At the roach

While I tumbled and fell
into the mattress, and
Though I tried to get
The cockroach, he, like
Everything else, got me first.
And the dress lie there,
Among the dust, toenails, strands
Of hair,
In a crumpled shape
That was kind of shaped
Like her,
But at that moment,
I couldn’t remember
What she even looked like
And wouldn’t have cared
If I did.