I am sitting in the middle of my room
the walls are bare,
there’s a shadow of where my bed used to be:
The stain of where we breathed each other in:
let hands wander in the dark.

I couldn't keep the details the same;
The walls have our story written on them
The floors creak your name when stepped on
The ceiling whispers in the dead of the night what it has witnessed.

The dent you left behind in my bed is still warm.
Your scent wraps around my waist when I lie down at night,
Suffocating me.

You dropped the pencil and tore up the paper;
made me erase it and toss it away.
Only, I can’t pick up the eraser,
and the trash can is