The Ones She Didn’t Take

He let a shiver run through him

Staring down at his shoes

This world is what you make of it

And like an unmolded clump of clay

He hadn’t made anything of it, yet

A jittering reminder of all the times

Good and bad

Razor sharp and kitten fur soft

So swollen are the memories

The ones she didn’t take

So, hiding away seemed so much easier

Than walking the streets alone

Alone, and unarmed

The very streets she roamed

So, instead he chose to hide behind the mask

A planted seed which grew only when he wanted

She wouldn’t know

She would have no cares, no control

He buried all the dead memories

In the basement, next to the boxes of her old clothes

And at night, he cringed at the thought of them all

Lying down below, festering, waiting, growing

Time is of the essence

Time was a live wire

And the dogs of hell

Were looking for him

Knocking, going door to door

Searching the homes

Room by room

But in all good time, the memories fade

Drinks of whiskey from the bottle

Tastes the same in a glass

So he no longer has the need for a glass

Now he reads the obituary pages for fun

Seeking out the names of the past

The names of the memories

Those buried deep in the basement

Which hide behind the mask

That he once wore

But the curtain is still drawn over the window

And there is no desire to see the outside

Because the obituaries don’t speak of the moving

Only of those who lie still

In perfect harmony

With all the dust

And the cobwebs, which entombed them

They can’t speak of what’s still out there

What scours the sidewalks at midnight

And peers through moonlight, down through basement windows

In search of boxes

And the fattened memories they hide away

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

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