What's Left of You
The bathroom is chaos.
Lipstick-streaked tissues,
Half-empty bottles,
A curling iron.
The TV hums with your favorite show—
The one where lovers betray each other.
I watch, waiting for you to gasp,
But the silence doesn’t break.
The sink drowns in dishes,
Your coffee mug wears its last kiss.
Pink pillowcase lay crumpled,
Still warm with ghosts of sleep.
Your heels, kicked off in a hurry,
Point in every direction but back.
You are everywhere.
Your mess, your scent, your shadow.
But when I call your name,
Only the walls answer.
Where are you?
I check the door, the street—
As if you might return.
But you are six feet down,
And I am still here,
Tripping over the pieces
You left behind.
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