Fifteen Years Ago

A thick brick chimney.

A body, wrapped up, beneath.

Lips releasing thick smoke,

broken dreams in the ashtray.

The rain outside caressing

brittle walls while they decay.

And he sits, silent,

solemnly

wishing someone had

something to say.

A stack of handwritten letters

adorn the walls and desks,

zombified pains, isolation,

slowly sinking shipwrecks.

Searching for feeling,

he drinks and calls again,

but cannot find enough courage

to speak after the dial tone.

The mirror reflects an empty room.

He spent his whole life hoping

and came out holding less.

That thick brick chimney

exhumes his fears with its black smoke,

the fire fading,

lost,

cold, gripping fingers

infiltrating what was warmth.

Shivering, he waits

but for what, he doesn’t know.

He started waiting in the Summer

over fifteen years ago.

He thinks of her

and what he lost

and why it left.

And regret fills his stomach

and soaks up his tenderness,

while the world shrinks

outside,

beauty fades

and stars die.