The piano still plays, but the guests are gone,
we are still here, I guess I'm still here...

the tiles have grown green,

moss has invaded and branches have broken the windows,

this is my home

the loneliest ballroom I know,

we used to dance just me and you,
to the music only we could hear,

but now I know I'm on my own,

all I can do is swirl through the dust and the smoke,

chasing shadows of the past,
they're just puppets and the puppet master laughs and laughs,

I am not graceful, but I am desperate,

I am somber, I, am, hollow,

as hollow as this empty room,
knock on the door and hear it echo through to the ceiling,

I am the same, my heartbeats are the palpitations of reverberations,
they are call and response,
they are minor keys ringing out into an open space,

for no one.

-

I will slow dance with the ghosts,
how I revel in your acronyms anymore,
my voice is careless, you do not listen, I do not sing,
I've grown mute, to you at least,

I miss you,

but I understand we could've left this room ages ago,
and now it is just me,

and I can't just seem to leave,

even as sunlight pours in beams through the broken ceiling,

signs of the outside are all but escapable,
but ignorable,

I close my eyes, sleep, dream and I feel us again,

it is cozier to live in this lie than face what has gone by,

but I blink, and the bright lights turn to broken floorboards and cracked windows,
I waft at the dust, and just look out the window.