Our house makes sounds I never heard before -
they're part of the new nightmare-themed decor.
Former comfy rooms, styled with love's heartbeat,
now seep cold-aches, ice spiked with incomplete.
Whether I'm here or there, you're everywhere
to ignite more weight inside my despair.
This house that was stage for our shared happy
has turned gruesome and painfully mocks me.
As your adrenaline speed-soars high smiles,
your freedom sick-roars motorcycle miles.
You know not when your death mile will appear
only that it will arrive before my last tear.
February 2, 2019
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2019
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment