Ashes

If walls could talk, your crimes would be called to witness. I bear the burden of remembering everything, even as you try to forget.

The blood was thick, dripping like a fresh coat of paint. I so long for the innocent times of our youth, when we both were clean with promise. We’ve wandered through this world together, you and I. Alas, Peter, I don’t know when you wandered so far away from yourself.

I forgave the indiscretion of the stabbing pain of push pins. One after the other to hoist posters of your idols. From happy pop duos to dark grunge rockstars, your tastes were ever changing.

I changed too, with every new hue from white to blue to black. I hated the darkness, Peter, both in me and in you.

The smoke stains linger within my cracks when you sneaked those cigarettes with Alex. I never cared for that Alex, you know. Bad boys always lead the good astray.

You were good once, Peter.

I recall a sweet lilting laughter as your mother sang you to sleep. Her calming voice could always soothe the storm in you. I wish she didn't have to go away. Her death was the very first crack in your glass.

It would not be the last.

I remember the nights when your father drank himself under. When his words became sharper than knives to the heart. Back then I tried to give you all the comfort four bare walls could muster. I understood with pity when you punched that hole right through me. Hurt people hurt. My pillars are strong, my foundation stable, so I did not mind taking the aim of your anger. But I could only stand to watch the anger consume you in its raging fire.

Drunk again, the old man chose his fighting words. He mistook you for the child you once were. Something small and so easy to break. That was his mistake, Peter. He didn’t watch the strings of your sanity snap, as I have. A silent accomplice to the drugs and anger and even those two suicide attempts. He did not know that you cannot break what’s already been broken.

He didn’t see the first punch coming. You’ve never once raised a fist to his. He’s older than he used to be. You see him topple, so easily. A brittle, sad bag of bones who clings to the memory of fear to control you.

“I’m not afraid of you!” you scream, the second punch is thrown.

You can stop now, Peter.

You know it too, but in your bitter heart, only cruelty compels you. You hit him again and again. You take comfort in the crunching sound as fist hits facial bone.

You did not mean for him to die.

But he’s dead, Peter. And you killed him.

I stand, the only witness to your awful misdeed. I would never betray an old friend. I was the only one with you as you mourned your mother’s passing. Remember how we’d spend hours together, when you leaned your head on me, and the stillness rocked you to sleep? I will always stand by you.

So why, now stained in the blood of your father, do you abandon me this way?

I smell the gasoline, I feel the rising heat as flame meets kerosene. I can only stand helpless as the flames engulf me in their raging fury.

I stood as your only friend, and you’ve betrayed me, Peter. How quickly you ran as the flames tore my foundation into rubble. My once proud structure wilts inward toward itself. I collapse into nothing.

I’m left as only ashes. And no matter how far you run, my child, you’ll always be ashes too.