His Illusion of Happiness

I’m lost.

I’ve disappeared, I’m his ghost now, his mess.

No one helps him, for he just drives people away.

I should've seen this coming. Should have read his aurora.  

I’m drowning in his sorrow, his illusion of happiness.

His tears that have fallen, are no use to me anymore.

I can’t keep up anymore, I need to be set free.

It was no secret, that he devoted most of his time to booze.

Booze was his soulmate, his only match.

He woke up most mornings, feeling disoriented.

He would walk to the bathroom, and sit in front of the toilet for hours at a time.

Never once looking down from the loft upstairs, to see what awaits him.

Ten minutes past twelve, he would walk into the living room.

Trying to make his way over to the couch, where I would be sleeping.

Never remembering why I was there, for he only remembered falling asleep with me tucked against his side.  

Kneeling in front of the brown, battered couch, a kiss would be planted on my forehead.  

Whispers of my name, caresses on my cheek, waiting for a response as small as a single breath.

This was his past. This is going to be his future. This is his present, daily struggle. This

is his Illusion of Happiness.