The Composer

You're omnipresent, like a Greek myth you summon yourself in front of me everywhere at once
I can't lift an eyelid without seeing something that reminds me of everything that was
Movies, albums, and street names that still whisper like figments that haunt me in the night
And I'm inadvertently resurrecting your spirit through ashes of wine glasses that litter the corners of my room
And when I go to clean up all the empty beer bottles that your hands had graced, little ghosts fly out of the empty space
And its absolutely killing me cause there's millions of them with your face
So I rush through the apartment corridors like Pac-man to the kitchen to scavenge the cupboards seeking the little magic pill that erases my conscienceness and turns all your ghosts blue, so I can float back into the bedroom and eat every single piece of you
But I never have enough time before they all stop flashing again, like emergency lights in bright patterns of orange, yellow, and red
And I'm back to chasing the dots, chasing the shots with a hit off a bowl in a place where you're not
While a flat lifeless pillow lies on the side of the bed that you would have got
I made music from the way you moaned when my hands and my tongue were exploring your body on the evenings we were alone
And now your just the fucking annoying song that I can't get out of my head
Your the name that sends pangs of shock waves through my stomach when I see it as I'm scrolling through the contact list on my cell phone
You're the static in the air, you're the empty dial tone
That same exact sound that I hate to hear when I'm debating on calling you to see if your home
You're the nagging little nuisance throwing useless little toothless green eyed monsters that circle me at night when I'm just trying to push past the images of new gentlemen playing the keys on your skeleton, composing new symphonies of ecstasy, surpassing me in orchestral arrangement that climax in crescendos of sweeping refrains till your knees buckle and you don't have the strength to walk when the piece comes to its epic end
And then the vision stops, rewinds, and plays itself over again
You're the magazine ad that I tear out and pin up onto the wall, you're the rise of the Roman empire and the decadence that led to its downfall
You're a fucking evil priestess sticking pins in my voodoo doll while I curl up over campfires burning effigies of your form
And I'm just begging you, pleading you, imploring every beautiful inch of you, call off your fucking dogs
Cause I'm just waiting for everything to come to pass, when I'll be reborn like Jesus Christ of a cardboard cut out Nazareth
Screaming with a thousand bold voices of a cathedral choir as I'm preaching to the red headed devil that I still desire
Douse me in this bottle of whiskey and bathe me in your fire
I want to make my home inside your lungs under stacks of funeral pyre
Till you develop Emphazema and spend your life dangling from hospital wires
I'll be your fucking Judas leading an army of two tone, turn coats, that roll over with every high pitched note that your new composer pucks from the strings of your heart
While I watch from the mezzanine of some hellish dream while you two make percussion out of each other's private parts
Stabbing me like poison darts with each wet slap holding me down and ripping me apart
Till the fluids from my limbs and your sexual car accident come mingling onto my mental canvas like a disturbing work of art
I said it once before and I'll scream it again sweetheart
Call off your fucking dogs or nobody gets out alive
Cause I'm ready to lay down my life and battling your miserable memory is like bringing a knife to a gun fight