(158 words) 7 April 2018
By S.R.A. Markin
there is a street in mind that i no longer visit
standing out front looking up over the balcony on the second floor,
no longer lingering and watching the shadows move together
the lights no more flicker and the yelling has stopped.
deep within my mind, the street is all black
a broken lamp post, the pavement covered in glass
cracked windows and unhinged doors
i no longer walk around to see where i was, “forever yours.”
in this place, i no longer dwell
where loneliness and insomnia manipulated, oh so fucking well
the cigarettes have long burnt, and internal fights extinguished
no refugee for the obsessive mind, i learned to manage.
i no longer visit the house under the stars
i no longer go up the creaky back steps,
wishing you would answer the door
i no longer visit, with a poem in hand
and i certainly no longer visit
because it will never be home
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