The Lack Of Her

Pieces of despair

spread in the room,

next to empty bottles of whisky

and photos of Pixie.

His invisible cloak

— made of self-pity — ,

is long enough to drag

broken glasses and other anger-evidence.

Granules of happy memories

here and there,

among dust

and pizza boxes.

A smell of abandonment

mixed with her perfume

and the sweat of his

unwashed t-shirt and body.

From the luck of meeting her

to the lack of her;

a route hard to handle,

an unacceptable change.

Her absence is present

and her presence is absent.

A gap full of questions,

his mind full of why’s.

Answers invited

but partying somewhere else.

The standpoint of the questioning

isn’t attractive to them.

Night to day,

day to night.

Painful loneliness,

but the same “eyesight”.

Could he see more widely? Yes.

Will he? Depends.

Cause, no one can save him,

but himself.

***

Anthi Psomiadou — CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 International : Credit must be given to the creator/ Only noncommercial uses of the work are permitted/ No derivatives