Moving

I left a piece of myself

in the room when I last left.

-

You noticed it, ignored it

and eventually discarded it,

a casual movement, to you,

as you rid yourself of my filth.

-

I walked home beneath the setting sun,

which reflected back from the towering cranes,

the towering glass city skyscrapers,

the buildings in which tired people would finish work

and stagger home like I would,

just as defeated,

-

the red sky

a potent reminder of their life slowly fading,

days slipping, like sand, between the fingers into a pile.

-

Walking past the sea, the light vivacious

at first but becoming lethargic,

I dip my toes but avoid their unseen depths,

once bitten, twice shy,

then go home without experience or joy.

-

The stone walls overlooking my actions

seemed to absorb my anguish

but would let it leak back through my apartment window

when the sun had stopped watching,

guarding.

-

Floating atop my multitude of miseries,

I skin onions and contribute further

the window self-locking,

a protective chain across it

a blockage of choice.

-

My phone lights up and I check it for your message

but it’s just another email -

Thank You For Your Order

- and I return to my wallowing.

-

Edging closer, I imagine your approach

and how I would feel if you only understood

I was not taught to speak my mind but I know you see it bare

and I know you want to help but I’m not sure you care.

-

Walking back to your room, my shadow blacks out the window as the cranes watch on.

The sun, cold, in its clumsy and hesitant embrace.

You don’t notice my approach, a slow, staggered pace.

-

I carried the moving boxes,

tears in my eyes,

knowing it was the last time.

-

A final exchange,

I had changed all I could

but it wasn’t enough

there was nothing else out there

nothing else, anywhere

a whole world present, but nothing to save me

because it too laid claim to you

-

and the long car journey home

hollowed out my body

forever. These days, I check the mirror

and see nothing, vacuousness matching

the lacking firmness of this new mattress,

wishing you were on it too,

so I could feel accepted

just for a second more

-

but the cold steel and smoke

has taken you away,

you wake up and still don’t care.

-

I leave my heart to harden,

an agonising adaptation,

she loves me not, the final petal pulled.