That Picture of You...

That picture of you makes me sad. You look beautiful, so beautiful...and sad, so sad. Oh God! did I infect you with this virus, this disease that causes one to view life in sepia tones of personal distress? God, but you look so beautiful and I can only think of the soft skin of your neck just below the whisps of hair hanging loosely about your shoulders- or the look in your eyes when you felt love and trust and the closeness of another's embrace, or the terrible distress in your voice when you called out to me from a thousand miles away to save you, to save you, to come get you and take you away from all this hurt and hatred and bitterness and despair, to come save you you from the last heartache and that last pull off the empty bottle that holds all our hopes and dreams, to come save you from yourself, but also to come save myself from the fate I have chosen, come save myself from myself and all the demons that possess me. And all I could tell you was no, I couldn't make it, couldn't be the one, or the right place or the right moment because why, again? Why? What stopped me? What compelled me to continue drowning in this sea of suffering? Why? Why, again? Why?

And I think of all the cigarettes I've chain-smoked, the bottles of wine drunk, the endless nights staying up, looking out my window at the emptiness inside, and I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. I don't know. I don't know. I love you.