Stairs

The empty stairs ring with the silence

Of your absence;

Of the vacant space next to my nothingness.

A cold, morose jingle plays in the distance.

My heart, tessellated with memories.

Of you. Of you and me.

The empty stairs haunt every step,

Bereaved of much sanity,

Wandering, lifeless, lonesome.

Loathe, loathsome existence.

Such provisional misdemeanours.

No ladder that can be climbed,

To lead to you or your arms.

The warmth has disappeared.

The icy wind scoffs in my ear.

The empty stairs mock my loneliness.

The dew on the grass fails to tickle.

Waiting, waiting for home.

Tireless, tired feet walk.

Towards you, us.

Every breath is a stretch.

Every step a toll.

Time didn’t stop then.

Why has it now?

The jar glows, like your eyes did.

The empty stairs ring with the silence,

Deriding me, killing me softly.

The empty stairs are suffused with your laughter.

And my hollow heartbeats.