I have to go.
That’s how it starts.
Then she departs.
Departs rhymes with hearts
But she has none
If this is her idea
Of a promise kept,
When in reality swept.
In the room I wept.
My room, no longer ours.
Hours go by as towers
Fall inside my head
And burn holes
In the ground of my conscience.
Scars from cars fleeing streets
In my cerebral.
My skull hurts
So I remove it.
Now I collapse
Like skyscrapers
On a pile of papers
And tears wet ink
So red rivers send shivers
Down desk legs
Until blank white
Mocks and shocks
The readers.
On the floor a puddle.
His head is bleeding!
No, keep reading.
Those are the words that the pages bled.
But you’re right, inside I’m dead.
Same old rhymes, revised by the poet.
Truth be told, I’d never know it.
Since she left, a head that aches.
World alone, an earth that quakes.