Between the jackhammering of mornings

And the drop-dead dreariness of night

I fall in and out of consciousness

Waking on the scent stained carpet of your apartment

My hair fanned out over each rancid strand

Here, my hair is long like it used to be

Overrun with split-ends and soaking up the stench

You don't smell it like you used to

I trip over invisible strings onto the sticky tile of your apartment

My hands hit the matte coating of your fake tile

My palms are the same size as always and turning red

They pick up partially dried syrup and forgotten crumbs

You don't notice the little bumps or snags on the floor

Between blinding colors of sunrises

And low-lit streaks of sunsets

I waver back and forth in consciousness

Old coats find their way to your shoulders

Resilient stains to mark the sleeves as yours

Reluctant threads unravel in your arms

I don't see a raggedy brown coat like I used to

You write my name over and over on the lumpy walls

Letters smear under your rushed palm and dye it black

Sticky tiles and musty carpet and torn furniture

Plastic tables and chipped plates and worn coats

Up my fingernails and my neck and my legs

Branded into my palms and my soles

Everywhere I turn your messy handwriting carves my name

Across your window and your TV screen and your teeth

On each individual lip and eyelid and the crevices of your ears

It would be impossible not to notice my name on every inch of your apartment

I read each blurry scrawl in the same obsessive manner you wrote it

Ink bleeds into my skin as I follow my name and it's not enough

You cover your sheets and bed frame and book pages and journals

And closet doors and curtains and drawers and shower walls and

Toothbrush and oven and microwave and spice rack and fridge

And I crawl on shelves and chairs and countertops to catch up with you

You drown out every color that isn't the ink from your marker

You hide every word plastered in your apartment that isn't my name