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To Kimberly Nichols's previous piece

Blood Headache

Life froze again today.
You sat outside,
Hunched like an old man, 
Black shirt and jeans 
Oxblood docs. 
It blew me away that you were clean. 

Your touch still floats
In that dim blue bliss bubble of my hope.

You took me to your room 
The one where you live with tunnel vision
Your lock of hair over the door 
Was familiar like our last division.

Gave me a little more faith in this trying
Again. 

I forgot about our overdoses,
Our same thick cravings
And that lack of recollection
Was just emptiness drugging itself.
A passion for persistent chaos
Followed my eyes as they studied anew
Your pain portraits, your keyboard,
Your coffee cup, your flaming nag, 
Your smooth face, your knife spiked hair.

A conscious study.
So stale to me it hardly matters. 
Damaging things have lost their relevance here
As has normalcy
Honing its presence within me. 

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