remember when i moved in you?

The words... the words escape me. And it’s like my very breath out of reach. It’s like my breath left with you, left me behind because it was no longer interested in moving through a shell.
It’s like my bones are dried up paintbrushes, trying desperately to move but leaving streaks of useless red all over the earth.
It’s like my thoughts have crumbled into ash. The memories are running away and all I want it to write a book but they are melting from my mouth like dirty water.
It’s like the songs are silent. The songs, once filled with you, are now silent with suffering.
It’s like I’m on drugs. I know something is happening, I know it’s bad and something tells me it might be the wrong choice, but right now it seems like the right one. But I don’t know exactly what is happening. The shapes shift so fast that my life is the hallucination of a rollercoaster.
Remember that night I hallucinated? That night I was alone, and I dreamed up reindeer and composers and big black birds turning into smoke as I gasped them into my lungs?
Remember that night we drove to nowhere and back, and said everything we needed to say?
Remember that night when we were all alone?
Remember all those next mornings?
The words... I cannot write them. And since you left I am simply writing a book about not writing.