POETRY THAT STAYS

Where did I go?

Do not expect much from me.
I am an echo slowly subsiding in an empty hallway. I am rarely the answer but mostly the question. I am an 11 pm sober and a 7 am drunk. I am an empty carousel. 

I am an unrestrained home. I am an abandoned memory and blurred vision of future. I am a slow dancer in the dark and sleeping auction of unappreciated artworks.

 I am the dried roses gasping for air for the last time. I am poetry with broken lines, a poem written in twisted anagrams. I am name carved in an unrecognized tree in a wide forest. 

I am a long-run bridge with dead street lights. I am a prayer nobody speaks when not needed. I am a jigsaw puzzle of plain black color. I am a mess nobody wants to clean. 

I am a secret kept inside the closet. I am a fireworks bursting against the rain. I am the unwanted letter kept behind the drawer, a fading picture thrown up in the attic. 

I am a dust shoved beneath the carpet. I am a hopeless chance and a steady remorse people regret meeting. I am a too-late. I am a wrong verdict. 

I am a bad choice. I am a no-second-chance. I am a vacant stare. I am the discovery of error.

Do not expect much from me.
You will seek for your history in me when you're lost but I am a torn map. You will leave your ghost in my room when you want to breakthrough without a burden but I have broken door knobs. 

You will look for lines you could read but I was never made to be a writer. You will look for yourself in me only to realize I am as lost as you.