I arrived:

door slammed upon my arrival.

The room:

bare walls and wood floor.

A deserted chamber,

other than her old table.

That misshaped wooden table:

rough edges that used to take hold of my clothing,

four chair sitting vacated.

I reluctantly lowered my body to the chair,

watching the three other seats--

waiting for the emotions to walk in.

Sorrow:

What should be to my left

is an empty space.

Lying on the chair,

a round, metallic pot.

I hesitantly lift the lid

to a boiling pot of homemade heartaches,

seasoned by the past.

Anger:

I know is coming,

no clue when.

The empty chair staring at me from across the table,

waiting for its owner to show.

That dessert sitting atop a round, silver platter:

A mix of breaking under pressure and blowing off steam,

baked into a soft cake I cannot bear to cut.

Humility:

the open air to my right

should be filled with its presence.

A tall glass bottle

overflowing with empty threats and forgotten lies,

takes place of the absent feeling.

Tick Tock

Tick Tock

The clock whispers in my ear;

"Tick Tock,

watching the lock".

The clock yells the hours:

Three,

Four,

Crushed dreams on the floor.

The loud echo of the clock dragging me in;

Singing come,

come.

The emotions remain absent,

clock softly serenading.

Forever awaiting the ones never to come,

feeling the one never fellt:

Numb.