He is much more quiet now than before and

If he chooses to smile, it is only a reflex action

That does nothing to convey the darkness behind

It, a means of distraction for any who might take

Notice of his watchful, bloodshot gaze, the mark

Of unrest that haunts those features with a dozen

Sleepless nights just another byproduct of what he

Has become since last she hung up on him, receiver

Mashed against an ear filled with spiteful intentions

From a voice turned somehow cruel, leaving echoes

In its wake to linger at the fringes of a void she would

No longer occupy, keeping time with a deadened past

He cannot lay to rest, digging up random pieces of her

Fractured whole, star shot images that used to make sense

In the light of reason, they have somehow become nocturnal

Artifacts to be dangled before a troubled inner eye with no

Concept of what it sees, only that it used to be his before she

Took it all back, leaving nothing more to focus on than a

Truth he struggles to ignore, desperate wanderer of lost ideals

He seeks his comfort, there, among the ruins of a silent tearstained

Existence some might call regret, he embraces this sorrow in the

Confines of a windswept nightmare known as three a.m. in a place

Only he can see, because it lingers at the heart of what he is, forged

Beneath an indifferent moon that seems much colder than her regard.

END

“There, Among the Ruins”