Ghosted

My neurons know your name, My sheets miss your presence. The walls are ever creeping closer, yet I scream your name till the walls talk back. The walls talk back - hard and rigid are the words that echo through my soul. I gaze only through a small hole, scared of the bushes that rattle without the incantation of the wind. This world is a hollow echo, where all my senses have fled, yet my eyes burn like venom mixed with shattered glass when I see you - every fibre of my being rejects you.