Dead for a year, so many wasted days already. I can't weep for you daily anymore. I wish I could hate you because missing you is too fucking much for me to carry, and I feel alone in my grief and guilt. This blood is still all over my hands, lips and vagina; I stopped trying to wash it off, now I just live with it. I don't talk about it, I just cry in my office with the blinds drawn. I'm starting to laugh again, I'm trying to create my own joy now. I can't sleep next to your ghost anymore.