As the Days Turn to Memories

I go back to an empty room,

where each ray of light is a black wound. 

I go back to an empty room,

where comfort lies bleeding. 

I go back to an empty room,

where only the walls are home.

I go back to an empty room,

where smiles get bent out of shape. 

I go back to an empty room,

where thoughts are twisted into knots. 

I go back to an empty room,

where stale traces blossom. 

I go back to an empty room,

where dead silence grows. 

I go back to an empty room,

and sit with the ghosts of sleep. 

I go back to an empty room,

where dead fears dwell. 

I go back to an empty room,

where phantoms find form. 

I go back to an empty room,

Stuffed, cramped and seething with my mistakes. 

I go back to a daily tomb

As the days turn to memories. 

By A. Guy