the aftermath.

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(written to this beat)

The Aftermath Of You

If these walls could talk
they would speak of morning's sun
blanketing sleeping bodies,
breakfast in bed
and a love
that swore it had no end.

They would tell of midnight slow dances,
Sade's serenades,
and you and me,
hugging each other with our laughter.

If these walls spoke the truth,
they would tell of your arm
arced over my back,
curled like a question mark
around my silence.
They would betray the secrets of sleepless nights,
of my pacing feet
wearing grooves into the floor.

They would sob with the images
that cowered in their corners;
your wild eyes and sweaty brow,
heavy hand and painful sounds
that could never be forgotten.

They would not hide truth behind a broken smile,
or pack it into the backs of closets
amidst boxes and winter coats
only to be brought out
when the weather turns cold.

If these walls could talk,
they would remind me of our story

so I could remember

how to make it end.

This is a broken home
with closed windows and locked doors
filled with ghost shadows and echoed voices.
Your face, absent from picture frames,
yet still I see you
in the dust
that lines their edges.

Your scent in my sheets.
Your footsteps in the hall.
I have scrubbed my skin raw a thousand times
but find you still
embedded in my pores.

Sarcophagus heart,
tomb in my chest,
I have left you here to die.
Bartered emotion for sanity
and prayed for nights
when your face
would no longer line the backs of eyelids.

There is no breath here.
No air.
I choke on the memory of you.
Swallow words and speak in silence,
there is nothing more to say.
Nothing left to give.

You are a cave,
filled up with the parts of me
that I have already let go.

The gentle smile,
the beating heart,
the opened hand,
the trusting way.

All is lost
in the aftermath
of you.

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