That Girl
I still sing along when they turn on the radio
but now it's only because I know it’s something she did,
that girl who used to live in this body.
I’ve seen everything she’s seen
felt her joy, her ecstasy, her pain,
but now she’s gone and I’m alone
to deal with the emptiness that’s left.
She was such a fair-weather friend.
Only your love kept her alive, you were her food.
your kisses- her wine and she was always drunk off of you,
off the smell of you and the feel of you.
You were her universe, her Adonis, and it made you powerful
when you looked in her eyes and saw her soul in shackles.
Together you were addicted, she to your perfection
and you to her adoration.
Together you walked the streets of this city,
pausing to kiss in doorways with the rain falling on your faces;
the moonlight shining in her eyes
and the sound of your laughter and whispered promises
echoing off the walls and reaching up to a place
where no mortal has ever set foot- the sounds of your love
twisting up like smoke from the fires in your souls.
I told her to be careful, I told her to put up walls
but she bared herself to you and smiled while you cut her,
because your hand brought it forth.
Now you call me so casually, thinking I’m her,
and I wonder when you’ll see through my charade,
and I wonder if you’ll mourn her when you realize... she’s gone,
the girl who used to sing to all the songs.
