Fevers

Woke to the voice again, crawling up through the floor and bouncing off of the ceiling.
It tells me I'm coming home in a tone to console the regret that I'm feeling.
Is it a ghost I see?
Because the life it resembles bears uncanny to pieces of me.
Are these my skeletons?
I swear I buried you deep.
I swear you're buried.
We could have waited before we waded.
We're draped in dripping fever coats.
Now we're in currents.
We're stuck in orbit feeling the pulling undertow.
I know I've been cursed by these ailments since birth, but until now I had all my lines rehearsed.
I could plead my own case against my need for a remedy.
If I can't confide in you, there's no truth to be had.
You helped me sleep at night, now I'm awake.
It breaks my heart to see you jumping ship for another.
We've lost our grace with words.
We stayed afloat, constantly ailing.
We lived in haste that we prescribed.
And on the incline you kept me waiting.
As if in passing, you let me slide.
These are the waves that I wed.
It's the ambition I fed.
I'm waking to a symphony of my fevers and restlessness.
Uncovered as savages, we'd fight for the last of the medicine.
The weak ones, they'd watch the sky divorce the sun and pray they wake up to a brighter one.
I'm sorry.