I don’t even have a name. You let me waste away in this empty apartment with buckets of champagne. You sleep through the day and wake in a haze from dreaming about your life. You could have had it your way. I sift through the crowds. Music entirely too loud. A fly on the wall. Watching you bat away their hands. But I’ve been here all along. The first to hear your songs about the moon and the trees and the river that’s so long. So pull down your mask close your eyes again.