Spitting up You

Inside the caverns of void a remembrance of you flies through
like the old proverbial "mist in time".  
It's more like tar invading my lungs on inhale, while making love to the mucus
and the burn of memories just sits there like our old ways.
There's a need for me to remember that I was no more than the 
Christmas catalog to you.  Fingering through the pages nightly with me,
exploring your wants and needs. 
Fold the page and mark me.  All for the days when the zero existence
of us thrives and winds down the ivy in a death sprawl.
Craving the time I wasted on believing I was something in your nothing
drives me mad but luckily that's a short trip so I didn't need to pack lunch
or snacks.
I hope you're well in your crazy.
  Shame on you for letting mine go.