A Poem for English (Visual Imagery) - Tick Where It Hurts
These sterile grey walls
This sterile grey ceiling,
My sterile grey skin ,
Pushed out of frame,
Out of mind,
Those walls held secrets, memories,
Of him, while he was here,
But now, I’m all alone,
And I wish he was near.
I’ve no more tears to cry,
He’s not here to dry them anymore,
The room feels cold, so empty,
He used to fill it with warmth,
Now, my heart too is empty,
He made me better,
We made each other better,
But he isn’t here anymore.
I hold his gift in my unbandaged hand,
It’s thin and cold, much like the winter air,
It’s a phone, for being “The Head Man”.
The phone shines black and brown,
But it isn’t a gift anymore;
Not when the only gift I want,
I need,
Is his smile, his warmth,
A sign,
To prove I’m, not alone.
I stare at my bandaged hand,
It shakes, it’s pale, cold,
Is the bandage bloodied or cleaned?
It’s hard to say,
I’ve lost track of the days,
The mirror lies smashed,
Still a victim of my wrath,
The open window,
The winter air,
Do nothing to soothe my aching soul.
With him I was free,
Free to create,
Free to play the music my heart longs for now,
I was free,
Without him,
It’s no fun anymore,
It’s painful,
I haven’t touched an instrument in over a month.
A month is a long time,
I remember the joy of having him,
But now he’s gone,
I still ache,
Even though now,
My hand hurts a bit less.
I’m a logical thinker,
There’s just no logic to what he did.
