Generally More Worried Than Married

What is addiction with absence of drug
What is grey without the presence of white
Days remain hollow with absence of night
When I fell into my absence and knew
Not what to do
I made a can of coffee — smoked a
Cigarette or two This is like a
Hunger — This day is lake a feast
A last supper to materialize the
Wasted, slumbered beast in the closet
She lives in the attic
— A floor in between
My room and the comets —
Of chaos and dreams
I’m awaiting the crack of dawn — the smell
Of morning — where the sound of her
Footsteps can comfort and cure
It takes quite a while to get things
In perspective A bleak, coloured tile
Upon the wall — so pale and objective
But how would I gain from this knowledge
When I know not where to go