THE WALLS WITHOUT YOUR SHADOW.
( march, 2019 )
the floorboards still whisper your name,
the sun shines through closed blinds
illuminating empty, porcelain sheets
and tear stained pillows.
and the door you loved to slam
when my voice got too far into your head
squeaks out
as if the door itself
is far more afraid of you never loving it
than i ever was.
YOU ARE READING
yesterday's news.
Poetryxviii, april. (iv). gravestones as empty as the bodies buried beneath them. © playlist poetry
